RECLAIM
by NeroDeSade
Summary: An alternate history surrounding the events of Skyrim in 4E 201. Our lead character, Nero DeSade, takes an opposition to all the conflict in Skyrim, by setting in motion a terrible plan to bring down both the Imperials and the Stormcloaks. The drama unfolds in the bed chambers of Jarl Elisif the Fair of Solitude... Rated T for violence and alcohol use and mild language
1. The Appearance of Shadows

RECLAIM: Chapter One- The Appearance of Shadows

4E 201, 20th of Heartfire, Skyrim, Solitude

General Tullius paced the halls of Castle Dour, a look of irritation painted across his aging face as a few drops of sweat formed on his wrinkled brow. His teeth grinded as his eyes narrowed, silently cursing the sorry situation he and his legions were in. Much had transpired since the 17th of Last Seed… But none more perplexing and irritating than the appearance this so called "Dragonborn".

At first, this hero of prophecy was nothing than a rumor, born from the chaos surrounding the apparent return of the dragons and their master Alduin. This alone was more than enough to deal with, and with the ongoing civil war with the Stormcloaks, a meager rumor of someone was not a matter for concern to the General… At first.

Pouring himself onto his throne, Tullius sighed heavily as he thought of the recent intelligence he had received. Before his thoughts could wander too far, the large doors to the throne room swung open, revealing Legates Rikke, Hrollod, and the soldier Hadvar escorting Jarl Elisif The Fair.

"And what do I owe this pleasure, Milady?" Tullius sighed, visibly uncomfortable.

"We have some urgent news regarding the Dragonborn…" Elisif said, her voice fringed with fright.

"I don't need to know anything about that person… They hold no value in any of our plans for winning back Skyrim." Tullius snapped, pushing himself to his feet.

"That is exactly why we're here. This morning, upon waking, I found a note on my bedside table." The Jarl said, crossing her arms nervously. "The letter was from the Dragonborn, Nero DeSade."

"Really…" The general trailed off, scratching his chin. "Why does that surname sound so familiar to me…"

Taking the note from the Jarl, Tullius began reading it. Every word on the parchment seethed with ill emotion.

"To whom it may concern: I have had more than enough of this pitiful war, ripping my nation in two, all in the name of 'peace'… Until this vile conflict has ended, the Imperial and Stormcloak forces shall not know peace, but unbridled terror." Tullius read aloud, narrowing his eyes further as he continued reading.

"The Imperial Legions have 10 days upon receiving this letter to throw down their weapons and leave the province of Skyrim. The Stormcloaks will stop operations and return to their normal lives, while the Jarls begin independently governing their own holds. The only difference will be in Solitude, where one of Nord blood and ideals will be placed on the throne." Tullius continued, sighing heavily as he paused.

"This person can't be serious…" Hrollod muttered, gripping the hilt of his blade. "10 days? Impossible."

"If these demands are not met, both sides will suffer, starting with your not so secret camps scattered throughout the wilderness. Then your forts in each hold, and finally, your armies' capitals. This Frost Fall very well may be your last." The General grumbled, crumpling up the note before tossing it over his shoulder.

The five stood silent, casting each other glances, not knowing how to react. The fact that this person has been within striking distance of Elisif was disturbing on its own, but this outright threat on both enemy and ally instilled an almost primal fear in those gathered. As Rikke opened her mouth to speak, the corpse of an Imperial soldier crashed through one of the stained glass windows of the throne room, causing everyone to jump. Hitting the floor with a sickening thud, another note fell out of the soldier's hand. The rolled note slid across the stone floor, unrolling as it came to a halt. It read 'this is a promise', sending a horrible chill down everyone's spines.

An angry scream erupted from General Tullius, causing the other three to recoil momentarily. Spinning around, the Imperial stormed to his war room, his feet hitting the floor with rage. Slamming his hands down on the large map of Skyrim, he hung his head, shaking with anger.

"I want that person dead! No one threatens my army and lives to tell about it!" The General bellowed, clenching his hands into fists. "Find them, bring them here, and I will take their head myself!"

Without a word, the Legates and Hadvar made their exit, running to tell the appropriate people.

Later on, in Falkreath…

The sun hung heavily in the sky, choking the southern hold in a thick fog. Siddgeir strolled through the woods, accompanied by his housecarl and three guards. The forest was silent, save for the footfalls of the men. Siddgeir narrowed his eyes, peering through the mist at what he assumed to be a deer. Readying his bow, the man sneered as he let loose a steel arrow. The projectile split the air with a hiss, passing through its intended target as if it were a shadow.

With a shrug and a frown, Siddgeir continued on his walk, humming a non distinct tune to himself as his group continued through the thickening fog. Some time had passed, and the five came upon a house, situated on an overlook on Lake Illinalta.

"Who's house is this?" The Jarl asked, wandering the grounds. "I don't remember allowing anyone new to live in my keep…"

"This is the DeSade house Milord. It has been here since the early days of your uncle's reign as Jarl." Nenya said, peering in one of the windows. "They've taken very good care of it, seeing as it is rather old."

"That name… Hmm…" Siddgeir mumbled, crossing his arms. "Let's see if anyone is home, I'm weary."

Sighing heavily, Nenya trudged to the door, wrapping her knuckles on the solid oak frame a few times, calling out to anyone who might be inside. A few moments of silence passed, and as she was about to knock again, the door cracked open, revealing the eye of a person staring out.

"…Can I help you?" the man said, his voice carrying an odd chill to it.

"Yes, infact." Nenya replied, putting on a smile. "We are here with the Jarl of Falkreath, and were wondering if we could rest here for a while."

The man faded into the shadows of the house, pulling the door open and allowing the Jarl and his companions in. Ushering the group through the front room, the man invited them to sit at the dining room table. Without asking, the quiet man brought the group flagons of water, ale and mead to accompany the random food items on the table.

Grabbing a beverage, Siddgeir grinned, casting his eyes in the direction of the man. Nothing too strange about him. Blonde hair, blue eyes, of medium build and stature, but his demeanor was what threw him off. It was if the man had no soul to speak of.

"So, are you the owner of this home?" One of the guards asked, sipping his water as he grabbed a pastry from the table.

"No, I am one of the stewards of the DeSade estate here in Falkreath… My name is Krause." The man answered, looking over the group.

"There are others? For one house?" Nenya asked, giving the attendant an odd look.

"Yes." Krause answered. "Between the eight homes of Master Nero, there are sixteen of us, rotating between homes with the seasons."

"So, where is the other steward?" Siddgeir asked, looking around the main hall, almost admiring the décor.

"Killian is out hunting for dinner. The master is slated to be here before sundown." Krause answered flatly. "Make yourselves at home, please."

The day went rather uneventfully as the sun trekked across the sky. Killian returned with enough elk to feed a small battalion, and Krause went to work preparing it for dinner. Wonderful aromas drifted from the kitchen as The Jarl looked around with a cautious eye, taking note of the large assortment of weapons and armor on display. Getting too close to a mounted dagger, a small arc of electricity jumped from the blade, zapping The Jarl's nose causing him to take a few clumsy steps backwards into a table, throwing a vase onto the floor.

"Master Siddgeir, please be careful." Killian shouted from the kitchen. "Our master is quite the collector, and there is no telling what these relics could do."

Chuckling to himself, The Jarl dusted himself off and stepped outside, enjoying the view of the lake as the sun began to set. The blue sky turned to hues of flame as the sun sank, bringing with it an overwhelming feeling of dread to the Jarl. Movement caught his eye. On the road lining the lake, a large figure riding a horse turned toward the house, racing up the small hill and around the house. Quickly returning indoors, Siddgeir walked down the stairs, composing himself for dinner.

As he reached the ground floor, the front door opened, and Siddgeir's horrible feeling returned as a large man entered the house, obscured by an ebony cloak and hood. All that was visible in the shadows of the hood were the man's piercing blue eyes, scanning the room and its occupants.

"Krause, who are these people…?" The man asked, his voice almost as dark as his garb.

"Master Nero, this is Jarl Siddgeir, his steward Nenya, and few guards, of Falkreath." Krause replied, bowing to Nero. "They appeared this afternoon and were weary from their travels."

"I see…" Nero replied, pulling off his cloak in one smooth motion. "Then allow me to introduce myself. I am Nero DeSade, master of this estate. Please, make yourselves at home…"

Vanishing into the master bedroom, Nero shot the visitors an eerie gaze as the door shut behind him.

"He's certainly an odd character…" Nenya whispered to one of her guards.

"Indeed… Intimidating as well." The guard replied, keeping an eye on the door to the bedroom.

A few minutes passed, and a dinner of roast elk and local vegetables was brought to the table by Krause, while Killian hauled up a special keg of Black Briar Mead from the cellar. As the blonde Nord started carving the roast, Nero slipped out of his room, taking his seat at the head of the table in front of the fireplace. Lacing his fingers as he rested his elbows on the table, Nero narrowed his eyes, giving his guests a once over.

"Please, help yourselves…" Nero said, his tone still as dark as when he appeared.

The group mostly ate in silence, the only sounds coming from the scraping of utensils and the knocking of flagons on the table. Occasionally, one of Nero's attendants would whisper something in his ear and return to their duties.

Stuffed, the Jarl patted his belly and leaned back in his chair, releasing content sigh.

"Krause, that was a magnificent meal." Siddgeir said, smiling from ear to ear."I must ask, where did you learn to cook?"

"I was taught by The Gourmet before he was The Gourmet during his time in the south." Krause replied, keeping his blank composure. "Your compliments are appreciated."

With the meal over, the group moved to the porch for after dinner drinks in the splendor of southern Skyrim's night sky. The conversation was light, and with the inhabitants of the house being mostly silent.

"The hour is rather late…" Nero said, drumming his claw-like fingernails on his heavy metal flagon. "It would be my honor if you spent the night. The roads of this land are not as safe as they were in the past."

"That is for certain DeSade." Nenya said, shaking her head. "I have a pile of bounties that need taking care of."

"Unfortunate problem to have…" Nero said, pushing his jet black hair out of his face, taking another drink of his mead. "I, sadly, do not have the time to deal with your bandit problems."

"And why is that?" Siddgeir asked, cocking an eyebrow. "These bandits would seem to be no problem for one such as yourself."

"My resources are a bit… indisposed." Nero said, his wolfish grin gleaming in the torch light.

"Such a shame, there is a fair amount of gold in it for whoever completes the bounties." The Jarl said, slightly disappointed.

"I'm good on funds, but thank you for seeming to look out for me and my finances." Nero replied, downing the remainder of his drink. "But, I must retire for the evening, please, drink to your hearts content."

Slipping through the door into the shadows, Nero left the Jarl and his men in the hands of Krause and Killian. Of all the people to wander into his southern stronghold, he did not expect the Jarl himself to appear. He scoffed to himself as he vanished into his bedroom, locking the door behind him.

Sitting on the end of his bed, Nero narrowed his eyes as he heard the others come back inside. Two children slept on the opposite side of the room. Two boys who bore a striking resemblance to Nero himself. Hearing the muffled voices filter in through the wall, Nero laid back, looking at the ceiling as he could feel the first bits of sleep start to crawl in.

Nero's eyes shot open as the lone rooster broke the serenity of the estate. His sleep was not restful, but his sleep never was. His family had been 'blessed' by Hircine with Lycanthropy, dating all the way back to the beginnings of the 2nd Era, when his ancestor traded the humanity of his line for power. Every person born with the blood of Nephren DeSade was born a werewolf, with one large difference: the ability to shift at will, and as many times as they wanted, without the 'time limit' cursed to the rest of Hircine's children.

Sitting up, Nero rubbed his eyes, dispelling the last bits of sleepiness from his mind. With a quiet yawn, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed, planting his feet firmly on the floor as he stood, numerous joints and vertebrae popping and cracking as he realigned his frame. Walking silently to the door, the lycan undid the lock and cracked the door open, carefully peering out into the main hall. A vicious grin crossed his lips, seeing as his Stewards had done exactly of what was expected of them.

Siddgeir, Nenya and the guards were all passed out on the table. Their drinks were drugged from the time Nero arrived to the Manor. The particular concoction was one of his own design, stripping the memories of the past few days of those who ingested it. The particular dose was enough to erase the thoughts of the night prior, and most importantly of their host.

Closing the door, Nero looked in the direction of the sleeping children. Snapping his fingers a few times, the teenagers began to stir. Before they could speak, Nero was at their bedsides, giving the signal to be silent. Crouching beside them, Nero began to whisper.

"We have some guests in the dining room. They became drunk and slept where they fell." He said, his voice barely audible. "I'll summon the wolves, but the both of you need to get them down the road."

With a silent nod, the two got up and readied themselves as Nero walked into the main hall, his hands glowing with an unearthly light as a pack of spectral wolves appeared. The twins emerged from the bedroom, cloaked in black robes and unnerving, emotionless masks. Placing the unconscious bodies of the guests onto the backs of the wolves, the pack moved for the door.

"Leave them at Neugrad, Siddgeir's Imperial connections will make sure he'll be found, and by the time they're on the way back to Falkreath, we'll be on our way to Riften…" Nero ordered, beginning to make preparations. "In two days, we meet at Vilemyr Inn in Ivarstead. You'll beat me there, but the room is already reserved."

Without a word, the boys and the wolves left, headed east as instructed.

"No problems?" Killian said, appearing from the shadows of the home.

"If the tonic works, no." Nero replied, donning his cloak. "But if it doesn't, you'll have to murder them, and anyone else knew where they were yesterday."

"Understood…" Killian replied, stepping back into the darkness. "I have also received correspondence from Whiterun… Everything is moving as scheduled."

"Excellent." Nero said, pulling on his cloak.

Without another word, Nero gathered a few items and made his exit, out the front, whistling for his horse to appear. Mounting up, the lycan pulled his hood over his head as the sun broke the horizon. With a light kick, Nero's horse broke into a full gallop onto the eastern road, his thoughts centered on the future of Skyrim, and his place in that future.

The teenagers and the pack of wolves moved silently through the forests of Falkreath, their guests still out cold from their heavy night of drinking. Nero's conjuration spell was holding nicely, despite the growing distance between the caster and the conjured.

Another foggy day was on tap for the southern reaches of Skyrim. With every passing moment, the mist crept from the ground, gripping the land with no respite in sight. The woods were deathly still as the teenagers continued on to the Imperial fort buried in the forests of Falkreath. The footfalls of the two young men were the only sounds to be heard in the fog that morning, aside from the occasional snoring of Jarl Siddgeir.

Fort Neugrad sat at the foot of the Throat Of The World, on the boundaries of the holds of Falkreath, The Rift, and Whiterun. Creeping to the tree line, the two teenagers knelt in the tall grass, scoping out the fort before them.

"Rather poorly guarded for an Imperial foothold, wouldn't you say, Fenrir?" One boy said to the other.

"No blood today then… How boring." Fenrir replied, pulling off his mask. "Faust, this fog doesn't help my eyes any. Smell them out."

With a scoff, Faust pulled off his mask as well, closing his eyes and inhaling deeply. A grin crept over his lips as his eyes opened once more.

"Smells like the entire garrison is meeting in the courtyard." Faust mumbled, sliding his mask back on. "We'll leave them at the door, and the wolves will vanish. Nero has to be at about his limit for this spell anyways."

Pointing at the fort, the two snapped their fingers, and the wolves took off with their guests. Without a sound, the two slipped back into the woods as the spectral beasts dropped the Jarl and his party at the main gate. The sun continued its march across the sky, indifferent to the terror approaching the kingdoms below.

Gerdur stood on the riverside, looking to the south as a chill gripped her. The village of Riverwood had, up to this point, been largely unaffected, but something was still not right. Many odd individuals had been staying and passing through the village as of late. The boost to the local economy was welcomed, but the general feel of the air was disturbed.

Gerdur narrowed her eyes as she saw the fog rolling up along the river, giving her another chill. Peering through the mist, her eyes shot open as a figure appeared from the fog, walking a large horse behind them. The sound of the river faded in the woman's mind as the figure drew closer, heavy steps of the horse filling her ears, and replacing her calm state of mind with a sickening feeling of dread.

Nero left the horse at the main gate of the village, turning his attention to the guards approaching him.

"Hold, traveler!" One of the guards said, hailing the lycan.

A wicked grin spread across Nero's lips as the guards stopped. Pulling off his hood, a false look of concern replaced his malicious gaze.

"What seems to be the problem?" Nero asked, his voice horribly slick.

"A decree from the Jarl, asking for the whereabouts of a criminal." The guard answered.

"It must be important if the Jarl has issued a decree…" Nero trailed off, running a hand through his horse's mane. "I'd be glad to help."

"Excellent. Let's speak a bit more privately. We can speak at the inn if you'd prefer."

"That will do fine."

Nero followed the guards, shrugging off the looks of distrust as they passed through the village. A large wolf hound sat on the porch of the inn as the three arrived, immediately going on the defensive. As it locked eyes with the lycan, the dog's hair stood on end as a low growl escaped its throat. Nero narrowed his eyes, casting glare at the beast as they entered the inn, taking a moment to adjust to the low light and the stink of stale ale.

A feeling of unease hung on the air as the guards took a table in the back, motioning for the bar wench to bring them drinks. Pulling off his cloak, Nero took the corner seat, casting a glance around the room. For being the middle of the day, the inn was rather busy. Townspeople, adventurers and merchants all mingled, discussing recent events.

"What in Oblivion is going on in this town…" Nero muttered, nodding to the wench as she delivered his drink.

"Some strange things have been happening, traveler." One of the guards replied, pulling off his helmet."We don't know your situation, but the reason we stopped you is because you look like a capable warrior, and the Jarl has issued a decree from interim Queen Elisif… Her highness and the empire have been threatened, and has put out an order to find the person responsible before any more strife comes from these events"

"Goodness… That sounds rather dire." Nero chuckled, taking a sip of his ale. "And what could I possibly do to stop this, I am but one man, not particularly versed in the ways of combat."

"Your eyes give you away." The other guard laughed, slamming down his mug. "You have the eyes of a trained professional. You don't get those by living a 'normal' life."

With a smirk, Nero shook his head, taking another sip of his beverage. "You can blame my eyes on my father. He was more of a warrior than anyone I'll ever meet."

The conversation turned to business, all the while Nero was dissuading the guards into thinking he was just an ordinary wanderer. The guards went on to tell some information that wasn't privy to the general public: that the person in question was the legendary Dragonborn. Inside, Nero was laughing. His well laid plans were working, throwing the land into the more chaos than it already was in.

The ale continued to flow, but not for the lycan. His time table was still in motion, and certain things needed to be set in place. One order of business was dealing with a local guild, namely, the Companions. Bidding farewell to the guards, Nero slipped out the door, pulling his hood back over his head as he made his way back to his horse and out of Riverwood. The four hooves pounded on the cobblestone as Nero galloped toward Whiterun.


	2. Every Wolf Has A Price

Nero brought his horse to a stop, sighing quietly in the shadows of his cloak as an Imperial convoy approached. The guards had five prisoners in irons, walking away from Whiterun. A tingle ran down the lycan's spine as the convoy stopped before him. The lead guard squinted as he looked Nero over, his mouth twisting into a frown as he crossed his arms.

"You there." The man said. "State your business. "

"I am but a humble traveler, on my way to Solitude for the birth of my first niece." Nero replied, coating his voice with a false enthusiasm.

Nero's eyes flashed a vile shade of blue as he heard the other guards mumbling. His heightened hearing let him hear every word they said. Much to Nero's annoyance, they were going to attack. Not out of self defense, but out of boredom.

"Off the horse, traveler." The guard said, pulling his blade from its sheathe.

Shaking his head, Nero dismounted, pulling his hood off as he hit the ground. Without much warning, the guards attacked. But, this traveler was anything from ordinary. With seemingly little effort, the lycan dodged every slash, visibly angering his attackers.

The horse fled, the prisoners fled, and now, there was no risk of collateral damage. A raven called overhead as the guards continued their offensive. For being of such height and build, Nero was as agile as a Khajiit. A calm smile crossed his lips as he continued to wear the enemies out, their fatigue becoming apparent from the sweat forming on their exposed skin.

Winding up for a powerful strike, the lead guard was shocked as Nero leapt at him, drilling an armored knee squarely into his mouth, breaking the aggressor's nose and front teeth. It seemed that before the guard even hit the ground, Nero had punched the other two in the throats with armored fists, dropping them to their knees gasping for breath.

As the two underlings suffered broken voice boxes, Nero returned to the head guard, kneeling next to him before grabbing him by the throat, standing, and holding him over his head.

"Now, what was that for?" Nero asked, casting a terrible glare to his new prisoner. "Do you always attack soon-to-be uncles for no reason?"

Tightening his grip on the Imperial's throat, Nero grinned as he heard the air escape from the man's mouth. Beginning to flail wildly, the guard began to gurgle as Nero's clawed gauntlets drew blood.

"I suppose I should expect nothing less of dogs of the military. Pathetic."

Inhaling sharply, Nero crushed the guard's throat in his hand, dropping the corpse to the roadside. In the blink of an eye, Nero slashed the throats of the other two guards, leaving them to bleed out on the stones below. With a sigh, he wiped the blood from his gauntlet onto his cloak, grumbling at the mess he had made. Looking around, he grimaced, quickly kicking the bodies into the river. A sigh of relief passed his lips as a merchant caravan rounded the corner. Quickly tying his hair back, Nero threw on a most convincing smile as the group approached. Exchanging a few pleasantries, Nero followed the caravan to Whiterun, partially glad the cat people weren't allowed in the city walls… But that would soon be changing.

Ivarstead, sundown…

A chill gripped the land as the sun sank behind the Throat of The World. The twins Faust and Fenrir walked the stone road, coming to the sleepy village of Ivarstead as the town was swallowed by the mountain's massive shadow. The Imperial watch paid the two no mind as the slipped into the inn, moving without a sound to the innkeeper.

"There should be a room for us..." Faust said, pulling off his mask. "The reservation should be under DeSade."

"Why yes, that is correct!" The woman behind the counter said, tilting her head. "And they cost is 10 Septims."

"Of course…" The teenager replied, pulling a coin purse from his cloak, dropping it on the counter.

"Thank you very much, your room is to the right. Enjoy your stay."

With a nod, the two retired to their room, discarding their cloaks as they shut the door behind them. Throwing open the wardrobe, Faust reached through the forgotten clothing, feeling the pockets for what he was in search for. He smirked, sliding an envelope from an inner pocket. Tossing the item to his brother, Faust moved to the bed, sprawling out from their long day of travel.

With the moons rising, the twins settled in for sleep, curling up on the single beds under thick furs. Even though it was nearing the end of HeartFire, the night air held a terrible chill, and the drafty old inn was not the best defense against the winds of Skyrim.

"I wonder how the others are doing…" Mumbled Faust, sinking into the straw bedding.

"Well…" Fenrir yawned. "It's hard knowing with some of those lunatics. Gerda and Aurora should be fine… Not sure about Rurik and Maksim though."

"What ever happened to Vega?"

"Last I heard he was in Hammerfell, but my gut tells me he will have a hand in this."

Their idle chatter continued for a few minutes, but their pleasant conversation was interrupted by the sounds of battle. A fight broke out between a Stormcloak and an Imperial guard in the inn, which spilled out into the street. As the action heated up, their blades sprung forth, the clashing of steel attracting the respective forces to arms.

"Blood?" Fenrir asked, a childish glint in his eyes.

Rolling his eyes as he slid out of bed, Faust motioned to get dressed. Strapping on their masks in unison, the twins nodded to each other in the candle light before moving to the door. Cracking the door, Faust peered through the crack, not seeing a soul in the main hall. The teens split, snuffing every source of light in the building.

"Plan?" Fenrir asked, summoning a spectral battle axe into his hands.

"We must move swiftly to reach Whiterun." Faust replied, cracking his knuckles. "We can reach the Bannered Mare by dawn, and Nero should be finishing up his talks with the Companions around that time… I hear they're tough to persuade."

Kicking the door open, the pair rushed onto the porch, ready for whatever the skirmish was about to throw their way. Wasting no time, Fenrir drove his axe into the railing, using the momentum to vault off the porch and dropkick an Imperial directly into the blade of a Stormcloak soldier. The sound of metal on flesh sent a chill down the young lycan's spine, filling him with excitement.

Ripping the axe from the wood, a crazed look emerged behind Fenrir's mask. His eyes glowed an icy blue as he spun on his heel, slashing across several soldiers of both sides. The screams of the men delighted the teenager as they echoed in his ears. The blood from his axe splashed across his brother's mask, making the calmer of the two shake his head.

"You know none of them can leave, right?" Faust chuckled, his tone unsettling.

"I am aware…" Fenrir replied, pouring even more magick power into his summoned weapon. "Would you like to take out the ones who escaped?"

"I would like nothing better."

Ripping off his cloak, Faust rolled his shoulders and dropped to a defensive posture. Pulling off his mask, a decidedly wolfish sneer crossed his face as his eyes turned from blue to yellow. A low snarl crept from Faust's throat as his skin went darker than a Dunmer. Thick black fur erupted from every pore as his bones began to break and reform, shifting him into one of the horrors of Skyrim. A vicious howl cut through the sounds of battle as the moons broke the clouds.

In a terrible blur, Faust tore through the enemy, rending flesh from bone as he took off down the eastern road on the hunt for deserters.

Jorrvaskar, Whiterun.

"I don't know…" Kodlak muttered, sitting down in his chambers. "We usually stay neutral in political issues…"

"But this isn't so much political as it is a declaration of war." Nero replied, standing in the shadows of the room. "And once all is said and done, Whiterun hold will be a haven for you warrior types. And what would bring the Companions more honor and glory than ruling the new mercenary hold? Besides getting the vulgar amount of money that is on the way here for you and your men…"

"I have no need for such wealth… But the rest of them could use it." Kodlak pondered, stroking his beard.

"My father may have been a patient man, but I am not…" The lycan said, his tone twisting to one of darkness. "Even wolves have their price…"

As Nero seemed to melt into the shadows, Kodlak sighed in disgust. His mind churned in the fog of decision: accept the shocking amount of gold, essentially selling out the Companions, or be against this new player in the civil war. Both options weighed heavily, as both were something he would rather not put his guild through, but there was no third option. Nero has frightened him, and that in of itself was terrifying.

"Skjor!" Kodlak called out.

A few moments passed, and the aging warrior in question appeared at Kodlak's door. Crossing the threshold, the short haired man narrowed his eyes as he leaned on the doorframe.

"Is that person gone?" Skjor asked, scanning the room.

"Yes… And we have come to an impasse." Kodlak replied, stroking his beard once more. "This whole scenario bothers me."

"I think he should bother you more." The man scoffed, crossing his arms. "How do we know he won't just slit our throats after all is said and done?"

"He has honor, albeit misplaced." Kodlak said, laying back on his bed. "I would rather stay out of it, but as he says, we don't have much of a choice."

"There is always another option, and bullying factions into obeying him has no honor in it. I will be no part of this." Skjor hissed, turning his back to his superior.

"That may be worse than our current predicament with the war, but I will make sure the Companions prosper from it."

The main gates of Whiterun lurched open, allowing two women to enter the walled city. Their boots clicked on the cobblestone below as they made their way to the wind district by moonlight. Slipping into the former home of Uthgerd the Unbroken, the pair made themselves comfortable. The ivory haired woman of the two set to lighting candles as the red head began poking around for food.

"Took you long enough to get here." Nero sneered from his perch in the rafters of the house.

"Gods damnit!" The ivory haired woman screamed, clutching her chest. "Do you really have to make every entrance a heart attack?!"

"Well of course." Nero chuckled, dropping to the floor without a sound. "I trust things in Solitude are progressing well?"

"Exceedingly." The red head chimed in. "The Legion was in an absolute fit as we were departing."

"Excellent." The lycan laughed, changing into more civilian attire. "Aurora, how was the trip here? It took longer than I recall."

Pouring a glass of wine, the white haired woman leaned on the fireplace. Shaking her head, she took a long sip of her drink, sighing heavily.

"We were only late because the carriage was almost robbed." The woman replied with a huff. "And the only reason we were there at that exact time was because Gerda was too preoccupied robbing the Blue Palace blind!"

"We had to have something to pay the driver with!" Gerda shot back. "Because someone spent all the money at Radiant Raiment! Your wardrobe is packed to the brim as it is!"

The two continued to bicker as Nero made his way to the door, pulling on a less suspicious cloak.

"Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to press some information from those damn Battle-Borns. I'll be at the Bannered Mare if you need me."

Nero's footsteps were silent as he made his way to the inn, slipping through the odd gatherings of people still milling about in the near midnight hour. As he descended the stairs, his eyes narrowed to mere slits of blue as a Redguard approached him.

"Hold, citizen!" The man said, getting a little too close to Nero. "My name is Nazeem, and I advise the Jarl on varying matters."

"Great. I don't ca-" Nero was cut off.

"There have been matters of late that the common rabble don't know about. You look rather common yourself, but strike me as an intellectual." Nazeem said, his tone overly condescending. "Might I have a word?"

"I don't really wan-" Cut off again.

The words began to pour from the Redguard's mouth like the after effects of a bad batch of mead. Every syllable started grating on every last nerve Nero had, replacing his once good mood with a rather foul one. Nazeem's voice was like fork scraping against a plate to the lycan. His eyes began to scan the area. Not a single town guard in sight, or townsperson for that matter. It was as if Nocturnal had shadowed the way for him.

Nero wasn't even listening at that point, just formulating on what to do with the body afterwards. Adopting a blank expression, Nero began staring at the Redguard's mouth, taking note of his verbal mannerisms and annunciation, seeing how wide his mouth opened when speaking certain words.

"What was that last bit about the Jarl?" Nero asked, feigning interest.

"Well, the Jar-" It was now Nazeem who was cut off.

In the blink of an eye, Nero had his hand in the Redguard's mouth, skewering the man's tongues between his claw-like fingernails. A shocked expression washed over Nazeem's face as Nero locked eyes with him.

"If your voice was any more irritating I would sever my ears in spite." He growled, applying more pressure to his vice grip. "I'm sure all of Skyrim will thank me for this."

With a vicious boot to Nazeem's chest, the Redguard tumbled backwards down the stairs, but his tongue did not. The burst of nerves made the piece of muscle twitch between Nero's fingers as Nazeem rolled to a stop, bleeding profusely from his mouth. Tossing the tongue into the bushed, Nero continued his descent, casting an ill glare upon the fallen man as he passed. He knelt, grabbing the now silent "advisor" by the jaw, bringing his face mere inches from his own.

"You won't be getting to the Could district very often anymore…" Nero growled, a horrible sneer returning to his face.

Nazeem moaned, but not a soul was around to hear his cries. A sinister chuckle escaped Nero's throat as he walked away, ducking into the Bannered Mare.

Meanwhile, back near Ivarstead…

The injured Stormcloak hobbled through the woods, holding the stab wound in his side, attempting to keep equal pressure on it. Her breathing was ragged, her other puncture wounds still bleeding vulgarly as her heart pounded most audibly. The woman's steps were clumsy and heavy, crunching every branch and leaf beneath her. A terrible, spine chilling howl slashed through the moonlit forest, freezing the soldier where she stood. Her injuries and loss of blood began to take her into a state of shock, as the howl seemed to come from all sides.

Her eyes widened in terror as she felt a pair of eyes on her, their gaze seemingly burning through the darkness into her very being. Her heart rate increased as she heard the soft crunching of leaves somewhere near. The soldier's remaining vision blurred into horrible blackness as she fell to her knees, her wounds throbbing with a disgusting pain.

"Poison…" She muttered, covering her mouth as she began to cough up blood.

She was aware of the glare again, she felt the look move over her every curvature, seeming to grow in intensity as the rustling of leaves grew louder. Her vision went from black to terrible hallucinations of drowning terror. Surrounded by the giant skeevers of her fevered state, she pulled her steel sword from her hip, wildly swinging at every mirage in reach. The rats laughed, adopting the voices of those who had scorned her in the past.

"Whore!"

"What business do you have joining the rebellion?!"

"Nord? More like Imperial mutt!"

"You weren't even born in Skyrim!"

She collapsed, mentally and physically spent. Her heavy breathing could be heard rasping through the woods. Her eyes rolled in her head as crippling paralysis crept through her body, emanating from the knife wound in her side.

A slick voice reached her ears, but she could not turn her head to address it.

"Do you believe you will reach Sovengard?" Fenrir asked, his ghastly battle axe vanishing back to the plains of Oblivion.

"Yes… I died in battle." The soldier replied, her voice trembling horribly.

"Death by poison is not a very honorable, human." Fenrir scoffed, rolling his neck with a vulgar crunch.

"Bastard." She gurgled. "You disgrace my afterlife by merely speaking her name!"

"You shouldn't be so eager to die… Such a garbage philosophy." Fenrir laughed, crossing his arms. "Faust… I cannot stand the sight of this pitiful creature any longer."

Stepping from Fenrir's shadow, Faust eyed his dinner, dropping to all fours as he inhaled deeply. What sounded like a laugh escaped the monster's fanged grin. The poison's effect had taken complete hold of the woman, causing her to convulse horribly before the pair. Turning his back, Fenrir pulled his hood over his head. The teenager snapped his fingers, commanding the beast to get rid of the evidence.

The terrible sounds of ripping flesh filled the woods, the echoes of bones snapping and marrow being slurped cast an ill atmosphere over the surrounding area. The local scavengers dare not approach lest they suffer a similar fate. As Faust withdrew from the gore, Fenrir stepped forth, weaving an odd spell in his hands. An oppressive black flame erupted from the teenager's hands, scorching the remains of the solider to nothing more than a pile of ash.

Shifting back into his normal form, Faust shook with a chill, forcing a laugh out of Fenrir. Tossing him his cloak, the two made tracks back to Ivarstead before making their midnight run to Whiterun.

Later on, at the Bannered Mare…

"Ridiculous!" Spat Olfrid, Patron of clan Battle-Born.

"It really is in your best interest, and in your clan's best interest." Nero said, his icy voice hanging in the air. "Now this is the last time I'll ask you. Imperial troop movements please."

"I don't care how you threaten me! I'll never give out such information!" Olfrid grumbled.

Seeming to phase through space, Nero was face to face with the Magnate. The lycan's glacial eyes cut through Olfrid's soul, causing him to recoil into a chair.

"Isn't it odd that you haven't seen your son Jon in a few days? Or that your clan house seems strangely empty?" Nero hissed, sliding his hands into his pockets. "A great darkness is approaching Skyrim… I'm sure those you hold dear would want you to make the correct decision… Unless it's as they say, and you really just want money."

"Petty insults will win you no battles here!" Battle-Born growled, jumping to his feet.

Lunging at Nero, Olfrid tripped over his own feet. Nero took this lack of grace to sidestep, dropping a vicious elbow between his attacker's shoulder blades, sending him to the floor with horrible impact. A few books and assorted trinkets shook off their shelves, crashing to the floor. Nero cast a look of disdain down upon the human, flashing his terrible fanged grin.

"You won't get away with this, you heathen!" Olfrid gurgled, writhing on the floor trying to regain his breath.

"Please." Nero scoffed. "Leave my faith out of this."

"You'll never get away with this. I won't allow it!" The man said, trying to regain his composure.

"I don't think you have much say in the matter." Nero replied, turning on his heel.

In a flash, Nero's boot connected with Olfrid's windpipe, crushing it on impact. A disgusting croak slide out of his mouth as the door to the room creaked open. A member of the Dark Brotherhood stood in the door, only their eyes visible from the red and black cowl. The agent's light footsteps hardly made a noise as they crossed the aging wooden floor, handing a sealed letter to the lycan. Waving his hand dismissively at the agent, Nero turned his attention to the letter as Olfrid writhed in agony, unable to make a sound.

"_Nero, all targets have been silenced in Markarth and Solitude. As you read this letter, the persons of interest in Morthal, Falkreath and Winterhold are being attended to. Also, thank you for your generous payment in full and upfront. Sithis and The Black Hand appreciate your patronage. –A"_

With a smirk, Nero shoved the note in his pocket, giving the Battle-Born patron a solid kick in the ribs.

"I guess only ugly people don't have a price… Hm." Nero said, pulling on his cloak as he made his exit.

Stepping into the cool late night air, Nero inhaled deeply, his eyes rolling back in his head as he began to make his way back to his temporary safe house. His eyes darted from side to side, keeping an eye on the shadows in his path. A quiet chuckle escaped him as he passed the house of clan Battle-Born. Glancing at the house, his eyes narrowed as he noticed a light in the upper floor.

"Professionals… Hmph." He scoffed, slipping into the safe house.

Aurora and Gerda were asleep, apparently plastered from the numerous bottles of Argonian blood wine strewn about the kitchen area. Shaking his head, he climbed the stairs, tossing his cloak on a chair as he sat down on the bed, the open window before him giving him a clear line of sight into the Battle-Born residence. He grimaced at the mess left by his hired hands: blood and gore covered the walls, and the bodies of Alfhild and Bergritte Battle-Born laying in several parts in the master bedroom.

"Not like that drunk can dislodge himself from the Jarl's ass anyways… Looks like he hasn't been home in days." Nero scoffed, laying back on the bed.

Rolling onto his side, Nero began routing through the bedside table, pulling out a book. He cracked the volume open, beginning to read the tale of Queen Barenziah. His eyes tracked each line, his mind getting more and more enthralled with the story. Hours passed, and the only sounds in the house were the drunk snoring of his companions downstairs.

His ears twitched as he heard sounds from the street below as the familiar scent of blood crept on the air through the still open window. His eyes narrowed as he heard something scaling the outer wall of the house. Sitting up, he readied a frosty bolt of magick as a pair of hands clasped onto the windowsill.

"And just what are you two doing here?" Nero asked, retracting the spell.

"Ivarstead is no good." Faust said, pulling off his mask. "A skirmish broke out, and we had to flee."

"Then why do you both reek of death?" Nero questioned, cocking an eyebrow.

"Because we had to escape somehow! We're just helpless teenagers after all!" Fenrir chuckled, dropping into a chair. "Too many people saw us, and we didn't have the energy to light the place up."

"I see… " Nero replied, laying back down. "Get some rest. We head directly for Riften today. The Black-Briar woman must be… Persuaded."

"She's scary!" Faust laughed, getting ready for bed.

"But Aurora is worse!" Fenrir replied, laying down next to the bed.

A few minutes of idle chatter between the twins lulled Nero to sleep, his mind still trying to think five moves ahead of Skyrim.

**[A/N] Nazeem had to die. I know you feel the same way. Also, there will be a small intermission over the next week. Family gatherings for idol worship and whatnot. Happy Holidays! -N**


	3. Vampire Missa

Old Hroldan sat in the shadow of Markarth's jagged mountain boarder, nothing more than a roadside inn with a storied history of ages past. Hjalti Early-Beard, who would later come to be known to the world as Tiber Septim, was granted victory against the Reachmen of the west. The might of The Voice paved the way for the one who would one day come to be known as Talos, mortal turned Devine, and one of the issues causing Skyrim to war with herself.

General Tullius and his most skilled Legates arrived to the inn just before sundown, two days after the Dragonborn had delivered his ultimatum. The historic inn was empty, save for the innkeeper and a less than stellar bard from the college in Solitude. The General made his way to the bar, fished out a sizeable bag of gold, and dropped it on the counter.

"By Imperial order of the Governor of Skyrim, this Inn is closed until next week. This bag of gold will cover your losses." Tullius said, his tone remarkably flat.

"Doesn't sound like I have much choice in the matter…" Eydis muttered, snatching the gold from the General.

"No you do not. Now please, fetch us some refreshments."

With a scoff, the woman went about her order as the Legion settled in to discuss their current strategy. Eight days remained before this so called "Unbridled Terror" started, and Tullius wanted exactly nothing to do with it. Things were not as black and white as they seemed: The dragons, of all things, had returned, reports of increased activity from both the Dark Brotherhood and the Thieves' Guild, heightened bandit movement, and a host of other things Tullius didn't want to think about until this damn civil war was over.

"What do we even know about this Dragonborn character?" Rikke asked, taking a pull of her mead.

"Hodvar brought me the prisoner list from Helgen. Nero DeSade, Nord, hailing from Solitude." Tullius muttered, rubbing his jaw. "The only thing with the DeSade name on it in Solitude is Proudspire Manor, and even then, it's in the name of a Carmilla DeSade, from 2E 177…"

"So that name has been around for a while, what of it?" Legate Hrollod asked, leaning on the table. "Most family names here have been around for generations."

"True, but it bothers me that next to the deed for that manor, there is absolutely no record of the DeSade name, yet, it seems eerily familiar." Tullius replied, narrowing his eyes. "No death records, no record of birth for Nero himself, it all seems very strange."

The Legion talked long into the night on speculation surrounding the Dragonborn, all the while completely unaware of the eyes and ears listening in on their conversations. In the shadows of the rafters, two individuals watched silently as the talks of war continued below. The two scribbled down notes as the night turned into morning.

Late afternoon, Riften outskirts…

The hired carriage came to a halt, the driver turning around with an outstretched hand, wordlessly asking for his pay. The group of Nero, Aurora, Gerda, Faust and Fenrir all narrowed their eyes in unison, as if they were all going to ask the same question.

"This is as far as I go. One hundred Septims for the lot of you." The driver said, starting to get impatient.

"This was not the agreement…" Nero growled, crossing his arms in protest.

"Due to my past, I can't go any farther." The driver said, shrugging. "So pay up and walk."

"And who are you going to tell if we don't pay you?" Aurora asked, leaning toward the driver.

"I have friends in places that would be more than glad to get my fee if you don't pay me." The man replied, a sarcastic smile crossing his slips.

"I doubt that…" Aurora said, her right hand glowing with a frosty aura. "You won't be telling anyone anything if you're encased in ice floating out to the Sea of Ghosts… Catch my drift?"

"Ha! Drift!" Fenrir laughed.

Everyone exited the carriage, ignoring the carriage driver as he hopped off. In a single smooth motion, Nero spun around, launching a single gold coin at the human, drilling him between the eyes with enough force to knock him off his feet. Before the man could even get to his feet, the five passengers had vanished.

"If I don't get something to eat I'm literally going to die." Fenrir moaned, rubbing his empty stomach.

"How are you hungry?" Faust asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Because I didn't just devour an entire Stormcloak…" Fenrir trailed off, shoving his hands in his pockets.

Without a word, Aurora pulled out a piece of dried venison and handed it to the whining teen. He happily snatched it from her, ripping off a chunk between his teeth. The group's boots clicked on the stone road as Riften came into view between the leafy trees. The smell of the fishery caught the lycan's noses and made them crinkle as they drew closer.

The gates to the walled city of Riften swung open with an ominous groan. Entering the city, the group felt the uncomfortable gaze of the citizens' fall upon them. The south eastern city had seen better days. Due to its proximity to the boarder, Riften, and The Rift as a whole had become something of a cesspit, collecting all the filth that happened to wander through the area. The once respected and feared Thieves' Guild was but a shadow of a once proud organization, nothing more than a bunch of thugs passing purse snatching off as proper thievery. Nero shook his head as they entered Honeyside, the DeSade hideout in the region.

As the bunch was settling in, the thunderous sound of footsteps erupted from the basement, running up the stairs. Before Nero could react, he was tackled off his feet, coupled with the sound of an excited squeal.

"Master Nero!" The small girl cheered, hugging the lycan tightly.

"Good grief, who is that?" Faust whispered to Fenrir.

"Not a clue." He replied, shrugging.

"I've been so bored here! Dane and Seth never do anything with me!" The girl pouted, pushing herself to her feet.

The group gasped as the little girl pulled Nero up with no effort. They began whispering to each other as their leader dusted himself off with a genuine smile on his face.

"You know you can't go outside during the day." Nero said, sitting down at the table. "And there isn't much for you to do during the night unless… Well, you know."

"Oh! Oh! Nero!" The girl chirped excitedly. "I've mastered all those potion recipes you left me last time!"

"Excellent! We'll be needing a few of them in the coming days." Nero chuckled.

"Hold on one damn minute!" Aurora interjected, stomping her foot. "Just who in Oblivion is this?!"

Casting a glance to his ivory haired companion, Nero continued to chuckle to himself as he snatched an apple from the table. Taking a few bites, he motioned to the young girl.

"Everyone, this is Missa." He said, taking another bite. "She is in charge of our operations here in the east along with Vega."

"Why does she look about ten years old?" Gerda asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"I'll have you know I am going to be one hundred and fourteen this year!" Missa huffed, crossing her arms, sticking her tongue out at Gerda.

"You can't be serious… She's a vampire?" Aurora asked, a look of disgust crossing her face.

"She has been in service to the DeSade family since my grandfather's time. She knows more about eastern Skyrim than any of us could hope to right now." Nero commented, smiling at Missa once more.

With a huff, Aurora made her way down stairs while the rest stayed in the main room to visit with their new ally. Things were progressing well in Riften, apart from talks with the Black-Briar family. Maven was a tough customer, and if she didn't stand to make any money or gain power in some way, she wanted nothing to do with it. Maven's "civilian" dealings were always done during daylight hours, in broad daylight, giving Missa no opportunities to get her message across. All of her letters had gone unanswered or returned, much to the girl's disapproval.

"You know, we're going to have to get tough with that woman…" Nero said, his tone darkening the room.

"Oh I'm aware." Missa replied, smiling sweetly. "I think you being here will help with that."

"I agree… Tonight?" Nero said, flashing a fanged grin.

"Tonight will work perfectly, because she and her sons are staying at their lodge in the wilderness!" Missa said, twirling a strand of ebony hair between her fingers.

"Most excellent. We shall wait for sundown and make our way to meet them." Nero smirked, trying his hair back.

"What should the rest of us be doing?" Faust asked, leaning on the fireplace.

"The four of you will infiltrate the Thieves' Guild and persuade them in a way they'll understand: money." Nero replied, leaning back in his chair. "Until then, go rest up."

Honeyside fell silent as everyone settled in for a nap, save for Missa who went back to work on her potions. The vampire hummed a happy tune as she crushed several ingredients into a powder before adding it to a deep red liquid. The smell was deceiving, a light scent of snow berry and cinnamon masking a truly vicious and destructive poison. The concoction was two-fold, part one was a fast acting paralysis agent, taking the target to the ground at an alarming rate. Part two was a dichotomy in itself: a life draining venom paired with a stamina regenerating liquid. The victim would feel uncomfortably energetic, feeling the life seep from their body, while being plagued by paralysis. A heinous brew indeed.

Missa filled a few bottles with the poison before packing them away in a hand basket. She went about cleaning the lab with a vacant smile on her face as Nero descended the stairs, rubbing the last bits of sleep from his eyes as he crossed the room.

"Finished with the Eidolon poison?" Nero asked with a yawn.

"Yes!" Missa said, motioning to the basket. "There are a few other goodies in there as well."

"Nice…" Nero chuckled, stretching his arms out. "How long of a trip is it to the lodge?"

"A few hours if we walk, faster if we run." The girl said, packing away the last of her ingredients.

"Anything I should know about before we get there?"

"Besides her compliment of mercenaries guarding the place, not much."

"Key?"

"Of course."

Pulling a key from her lab coat, Missa tossed it to the lycan, her ever present smile lighting the room. The two made their way back to the main floor as everyone was stirring back awake. Aurora was still in an ill mood, Gerda was working on dinner, and the twins were still back to back on the floor, showing few signs of life. The group quickly went over their assignments as Nero and Missa prepared for departure.

"Not staying for food?" Gerda asked, tilting her head.

"We'll eat on the way…" Nero replied, cracking a vicious grin.

"I can't eat regular food anyways!" Missa scoffed, pulling on her red hooded cape.

Shooing them out the door, Gerda got to dishing up dinner.

The sun once again sank below the jagged horizon, drowning the land in shadow. The Tullius and the Legates had turned in late in the afternoon after a long night of discussion on the future of Skyrim. The two specters dropped from the ceiling without so much as a creaking board beneath their feet. Sliding to the bar, one of the men produced a bag of gold, grinning to Eydis as she snatched it from his hand.

"You boys stay out of trouble ok? The Reach wouldn't be the same without you two looking out for us Nords." The woman whispered, sliding a note across the counter.

"Like we'd let some faithless Imperials do us in." The man chuckled, pulling his hood over his silver hair.

"Squeeze every coin you can out of those puppets." The other man said, sliding on an eerie mask.

The two made their exit, making their way to the east under the crawling darkness. The valleys of the Reach were quiet, the only sounds aside from the men's footsteps were those of the Karth river moving swiftly below. The two walked side by side in unison, cloaking their footsteps within one another's. As Secunda and Masser crept into the sky, the pair quickened their pace as the moonlight washed over the land, casting vicious shadows from the rough valley tops.

"Rurik…" The man said from behind his mask. "We've been followed."

"Oh I know…" Rurik replied, cracking a grin under his hood. "I'd like to get out of this shadow first."

Employing their lycan blood, the two ran at a not so human speed, emerging from the fractured Reach onto the desolate tundra of the Whiterun region. The wind howled across the plains, whipping the capes of the two into unsettling shapes in the awkward moonlight. Their eyes scanned the area, their lycan sight giving them equal sight in either day or night. The slow sound of hooves clopping on the land approached, carrying with them agents of the Thalmor.

"Two on horseback, three on foot. Probably Justiciars. Their steps ring with false privilege." Rurik whispered, shifting his weight from side to side. "Maksim, how should we proceed?"

"It can't be helped… They've seen us, and they can't leave here alive." Maksim replied, adjusting the ancient mask upon his face.

A low chuckle escaped Rurik's mouth as he unbuckled the gauntlet on his left arm, revealing an intricate tattoo across his skin. The symbol began to glow with a sickening blue light as arcs of electricity jumped between the numerous rings on his fingers. The ill wind continued to howl as the group of Thalmor approached, weapons ready to deal with their quarry without diplomacy.

The onset of the skirmish happened in the blink of an eye. Before the horsemen could even touch the ground with their feet, they were sent skyward by an impossibly large bolt of lightning. The power of the assault scorched the eyebrows right off the three Justiciars standing on the ground, the horses sent into violent seizures from the electrical overload. As the enemy recovered from the initial shock [[Har har]], Maksim dashed into the fray, the scent of electricity still hot on the air. Vaulting over a fallen horse, the lycan spun in the air, using the force to deliver a punishing kick to the head of one of the Thalmor, taking the high elf's helmet right off his head.

As the helmet rolled to a stop, another bolt of lightning screeched through the air, effectively frying the two once mounted enemies. Their horrible screams sent chills down the remaining enemie's spines, stunning them long enough for Maksim to move into striking distance. With terrifying force, the unarmed fighter drove a vicious fist into the face of one of the elves, shattering teeth and dislocating the jaw with a vulgar crunch. A supernova of pain sent the Altmer into a state of shock, collapsing to the hard ground below.

One enemy remained, clutching his blade tightly as the moons were swallowed by the clouds. The veil of darkness swept the tundra, instilling a primal fear in the elf. His thoughts raced, looking from side to side, unable to see anything but choking darkness, coupled with the disorienting ill wind. His heart pounded, seeing the electrified arm of his target slowly drawing closer.

"I yield!" The elf cried, dropping his weapon.

No response was heard, just pain. He would have rather been shocked to death, but the Divines scoffed. A force he had never felt struck him, sending him tumbling backwards in a violent spin. The sound of a sickening crack cut through the wind, making Maksim wince slightly. The Thalmor had hit a rock, cracking his armor and snapping his spine, leaving him paralyzed from the chest down. The two lycans calmly walked up to their unfortunate pursuer, surveying the corpses of those who fell first.

"Shoot a spell at me and I'll rip your arms off." Rurik said, his tone as dead as those surrounding him.

"Please… Just kill me." The elf groaned, trying to pull himself away.

"If you lust for death, why are you trying to escape?" Maksim laughed, putting a boot to the elf's chest.

"Brother, such is the way of the cowardly yellow elves. Ask for one thing and want another." Rurik said, crossing his arms in disapproval.

The Altmer began to sob uncontrollably, all the while trying to slither out from under the lycan's boot. Masser and Secunda broke the clouds, once again drenching the tundra with an awkward light. The two looked down upon their blubbering captive, deciding if it was even worth killing him.

"Why were the Thalmor trailing us?" Rurik asked, his eyes shining in the moonlight.

"We thought you were Talos worshipers!" The elf sobbed, desperately scratching at the boot on his chest. "We're just upholding the laws of the empire!"

"Uh huh…" Maksim replied, leaning forward, squeezing the air out of the elf's lungs. "Are we supposed to believe that you followed us across two holds for that?"

"Yes!" The prisoner screamed, throwing his head from side to side.

"Well, we don't." The pair said in unison.

Pulling his foot back, Maksim sneered as he kicked the Thalmor agent in the side, sending him skidding off a few feet, throwing a few items from the elf's pockets. The two walked over, Maksim grabbed the elf by the throat as Rurik picked up a note. He opened it and read aloud.

"_Lorcalin, the following is all we know on what we are calling The DeSade Faction. All physical descriptions are on page two._

_Nero DeSade, 27 years old. Known aliases: none. Suspected to be the Dragonborn. No other pertinent information. _

_Faust and Fenrir DeSade, 21 years old. Known aliases: none. Younger twin brothers of Nero. Both work for the East Empire Trading Company out of Windhelm. _

_Vega Roanoke, 29 years old. Known aliases: none. Uncomfortably close to Nero, living with him in Solitude, works as Keeper for the Hall of The Dead. Slightly shorter than DeSade._

_Aurora Luune, 26 years old. Known aliases: none. Unknown how she knows DeSade, but both have been spotted in various cities together. _

Shaking his head, Rurik crumpled up the papers and stuffed them in his pocket. The pair laughed, finding some odd humor in the situation. The elf covered his face, expecting more physical torment, none came. Peeking out from between his fingers, the Altmer was perplexed by his target's actions.

"That's cute. Why even bother writing that down on paper?" Rurik chuckled, scratching his head.

"Care to enlighten us?" Maksim asked, tightening his grip.

"I don't know anything!" The man cried, desperately trying to escape the lycan's grasp.

"Somehow… I believe you. Even the Altmer know when to talk." Rurik said, shaking his head.

"Elenwen gives out the orders, we just follow them!" The elf screamed, his state of shock heightening.

"Puppets until death… Typical." Maksim chuckled, shaking his prey by the throat. "Time to go."

A blood curdling scream erupted from the Altmer as his throat was crushed in Maksim's grip, the vertebrae of the elf's spine shattering under the oppressive force. The essence once fighting for life fell limp, hitting the ground with a thud as the light left the Altmer's eyes. Maksim pulled off his mask, casting a bored stare upon the fresh corpse. The cool night air refreshed the man as he inhaled deeply, letting his guard down for the first time since leaving Hroldan.

"What now?" Maksim asked, turning to his brother. "I highly doubt they gave them any more information. Hell, these physical descriptions aren't even vaguely correct."

"They go the height right." Rurik mused. "But… What should we do about the Thalmor?"

"I don't think the others would want us to deviate from the time table. Besides, we don't even know where they hide." Maksim replied, beginning to loot the corpses. "And why are all these high elves dirt poor?!"

Later on, near Riften…

The odd pair of Missa and Nero approached the Black-Briar lodge with the beams of moonlight lighting their path. The crunch of leaves drifted through the eternal autumn of The Rift, blending nicely with the light breeze rustling the trees. The lights of the lodge cut through the mild darkness of the forest, instilling an odd feeling in the two as they drew closer.

"Hmm…" Missa pondered, putting a finger to her chin as she walked. "I really wonder why she never replied to my letters…"

"As I recall, she's a royal bitch." Nero chuckled, adjusting his cloak.

"I suppose I didn't make any mention of money to keep her attention." The vampire frowned, pouting slightly. "Hopefully these negotiations will go better."

"I'd rather not have to kill her…" Nero trailed off, glancing at the nearly full moons. "But… Ehh…"

"But what?" Missa asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Dealing with humans is so… Exhausting." Nero answered, sighing heavily. "Never thinking of anything but themselves."

Missa giggled, amused that one so young in age had such a view of how things worked. He was absolutely correct. Humans always picked sides, one way of thinking against another. The affairs of mortals did not weigh heavily on Missa's mind. She could care less if the Empire or the Stormcloaks ruled the land, just as long as she and her alchemy were left out of it. The two stood on a ledge, overlooking the estate grounds, and the pack of mercenaries lurking about.

"Good grief." Missa muttered, adjusting her skirt. "I didn't think security would be this tight."

"The weak need protection I suppose…" Nero growled, pulling off his hood. "How would you to proceed?"

Shifting her weight from side to side, the vampire narrowed her eyes, taking a headcount of the guards milling about. She drummed her fingers on her enclosed basket, mentally going through her inventory for the situation. She knelt, popping open her basket of potions and poisons. Keeping her eyes set on the guards, she pulled out a black bottle and a handful of throwing knives. The quiet pop of the cork made both the figures wince; hoping the people below wouldn't hear it. The pair sighed in unison as the noise didn't seem to bother the guards.

"That smells terrible." Nero whispered, covering his nose. "What in Oblivion is that?"

"I came up with this little demon last week. An extremely potent hallucinogenic poison, paired with a touch of fear." Missa replied, her tone ever cheery.

A sly grin crept across his lips as Missa handed Nero a tainted blade. Closing his right eye, the lycan took aim at the closest guard. Bringing his hand over his head, Nero exhaled and launched the knife. Time seemed to slow as the poisoned blade flew through the air, closing in on its unaware target. With the force the lycan launched the knife, the objected punched a hole in the mercenary's armor with no problem. Surprised, the man took a few steps back, ripping the knife from his chest. The man scanned the area, not seeing any immediate danger, or the source of the attack.

"Nice shot!" Missa whispered, handing her companion another poisoned blade. "You might not need that one. Look!"

Returning his eyes to his target, Nero's grin returned. The poisons had begun to take effect. The man doubled over, holding his sides in pain. Nero couldn't make out everything the man was saying, but everything he could hear was a jumbled mess of misplaced words and awkward syllables. Hearing the sounds, another guard came to investigate, only to get cracked in the ribs with the poisoned man's war hammer. His scream of pain alerted everyone else outside the lodge. As the rest came barreling around the corner, Nero let loose a handful of poisoned knives, all finding their marks and unleashing chaos onto the people below.

"It took me three days to brew all that poison!" Missa whispered, her tone fringed with annoyance."How am I going to get more Falmer blood?! It took me weeks to track down that horde!"

Nero suppressed a chuckle, covering his mouth as he looked upon the carnage unfolding below. The sickening sounds of breaking bones, squelching flesh and the splashing of blood permeated the air. The violence reached a fevered pitch as the poison crested, causing an absolute frenzy of blood and death. The two remaining men stared at each other, eyes wide with crushing dementia, weapons drawn and ready to taste blood. Their breathing was ragged from their wounds and the venom in their veins.

The Orc mercenary was the first to swing, missing his mark due to the violent hallucinations assaulting his vision. A fatal mistake, as the Argonian brought his hammer down upon his target's skull, smashing the Orsimer into the dirt with a cringe inducing thud.

"And what do we do about that one?" Nero asked, shifting his eyes to his vampyric companion.

"I don't think he'll be a problem… Look." Missa replied, pointing at the remaining guard.

As if on cue, the reptilian creature began to foam at the mouth and convulse, hitting the ground seconds later. With the twitching subsiding, the two made their way to the entrance, looting the corpses as they went.

"Times must be tough. Or Maven is a cheap employer." Nero mumbled, tossing a few coins in his pocket.

"Or both." Missa said, retrieving the throwing knives. "The Black Briar mead isn't selling like it used to… So I hear."

"I prefer Honningbrew anyways." Nero chuckled, popping the door open. "No key needed."

The two entered the house, happy to find that all the guards were outside. Their feet fell with no sound as they followed Nero's nose to the top floor, finding Maven reading a book by candle light. Crossing the threshold into the room, Nero tilted his head to the side, avoiding the war axe as it flew past his face, sinking itself in the wall behind them. A smile spread across his lips as he pulled off his hood.

"My my… Since when did you start wearing women's perfume, Isran?" Nero grinned, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Ever since I took this job for the Black-Briar's." Isran replied, stepping from the shadows. "I killed you. Twice."

"Clearly, it didn't stick." Nero chuckled, tapping his foot on the floor.

"Such manners!" Missa said, stepping out from behind Nero. "We're here for negotiations, not for blood."

"So says you, bloodsucker!" Isran spat, glaring at the small vampire. "I'm not going to trust a dirty vampire and an oversized dog."

"Now now, Isran." Maven said, putting her book down. "The least we can do is listen to them before we kill them, right?"

"Highly unlikely." Missa coughed, stepping in front of Maven. "Since I have your undivided attention, and since you ignored all of my correspondence, here is our proposal: We pay you a disgusting amount of money to mind your own damn business for the next month. You will stay here, far away from the events to unfold, so you can in no way influence the outcome."

"What?" Isran and Maven said in unison.

"Are you insane?" The woman scoffed, reaching for her drink.

"You can't be serious…" The Redguard laughed.

"Standing against us would be more insane." Nero growled, his voice drowning the room with a sense of dread. "And now, your sum is half of what it was."

"Your words do not scare me, whoever you are." Maven said dismissively, waving toward the door. "I don't need your money. I make enough of it as it is."

"Even with your rival in Whiterun stealing all of your business in the west? And the poor job the Imperials are doing keeping your shipments safe?" Missa mused, smiling innocently. "Or perhaps an unfortunate accident, tainting the next four months worth of both your regular stock and your reserve…"

"Empty threats." Maven said, putting down her wine. "My connections and influ-"

"Both of those are now on my payroll." Nero said, flashing a fanged grin.

Pushing herself to her feet, Maven strode with angry steps past Missa, looking up at Nero with a foul glare. She went to slap the lycan, only to have her wrist reflected with alarming force. The rebound nearly took the woman to the floor, luckily being caught by Isran.

"Now, as I was saying…" Missa trailed off, rocking back and forth on her heels. "You will stay here, far and away from the public eye, unable to influence anything outside these walls until someone comes to let you out. The money will be delivered during your stay here."

"Isran will stay as well." Nero interjected, leaning on the doorframe. "Unless you want your little club to be exterminated, that is."

"You alone cannot stand against The Dawnguard." Isran hissed, steadying himself and Maven.

"Who says we're alone?" Missa giggled, walking back to Nero. "Do we have a deal?"

"Hardly." The humans said in sync.

In an instant, Isran pulled the war hammer from his back and leapt at the supernatural duo. A grin crossed their lips as they both sidestepped, causing the man to smash through the doorframe with the weapon. Seeming to phase through space, Missa slapped Maven out of her chair and onto the floor as Nero kicked out Isran's legs, taking him to the floor. The Redguard spun on his back, swinging his runed war hammer once more with alarming force. The hammer head missed Nero's ribcage by mere centimeters, forcing a grim smile out of the lycan. Isran's scream ripped through the air as Nero brought a heavy boot down upon the man's upper arm, forcing the sound of bending armor and crunching bone into the room.

"Maven…" Nero growled, pulling his hood over his head as he turned, locking an icy glare on the woman. "Do we, or do we not, have a deal? Or would you rather I turn your bones to dust and sell the powder to the skooma addicts?"

"Fine, whatever." Maven mumbled. "Heathens."

As Maven went to stand, Nero appeared over her, striking the woman across the face with a thunderous crack.

"Thank your divines that I showed mercy today, because you should get exactly none, from anyone." Nero snarled, feeling his palm sting a bit. "Missa, we have much to do. Let's move."

"Yes, Master Nero." Missa giggled, sticking her tongue out at Maven.

Chapter 3- Vampire Missa: END

Next Chapter: Dusk Walker


	4. INTERMISSION The DeSade Dossier

Three days before the events of RECLAIM.

The moons hung high on icy winds in the skies over Solitude. The Thalmor Headquarters sat nestled in the ramparts of Castle Dour, silently keeping watch over the Imperial capital of Skyrim. The headquarters were staffed with a skeleton crew as most of the Skyrim detachment were on patrol of the lands, looking to enforce the laws of the Empire.

The four guards sat in the meeting room, hilariously drunk on confiscated Argonian Blood Wine. The group sat around, attempting to discuss their latest orders from the Thalmor Embassy.

"But…" One of the agents slurred. "That seems like grunt work, we're more…Administrative."

"Very true." Another guard mumbled, pouring himself some more wine. "We should just wait 'til the fifth group gets back, then they can go search for… Whoever we were told to hunt down."

The group was too drunk to notice the shadow that fell from the ceiling. Before their poor wine soaked brains could react, they were dead, bleeding out on the cold stone floor. Throats slashed, necks broken, a skull punctured by an ebony arrow.

The hooded man rolled up his sleeves and piled the bodies in the corner. The man's boots clicked lightly as he moved commander's chambers. Scanning the room, his eyes narrowed as he spied the desk. Pulling out the chair, he took a seat, leaning over the documents.

"Ulfric Stormcloak… No. Delphine… No. Esbern… no. Where the hell is it?" The man mumbled, sifting through the journals. "Ah, here we are…"

The DeSade Dossier. The Thalmor's complete collection of information on what the Dominion was calling the DeSade Faction.

Nero DeSade-

Age: Late 20s

Gender: Male

Race: Nord

Physical Description: A very tall, well built man. Long black hair, light blue eyes. Usually wearing dark colored clothing, covered by a black hooded cloak. Three piercings in each ear with silver colored rings.

Known Aliases: None

Known Affiliations: None

Combat Strength: Unknown. He has never been seen employing weapons or magick of any kind.

Wanted in connection with disrupting Thalmor activities in Skyrim, Cyrodiil, Hammerfell and Highrock, along with sabotaging Imperial business. Last seen during the incident at Helgen, where he was seen escaping with a Stormcloak soldier. If apprehended, use EXTREME CAUTION as we do not know how he may retaliate.

Faust DeSade-

Age: 21 Note- Some information says 19, but we won't know until he is apprehended.

Gender: Male

Race: Nord

Physical Description: Average height and build. Black hair, medium length, spiky and light blue eyes. No identifying marks or tattoos.

Known Aliases: None

Known Affiliations: Thieves Guild, East Empire Trading Company

Combat Strength: Stealth, illusion magicks, daggers. Also employs a bevy of poisons and potions.

Wanted by the Empire for smuggling, and wanted by us for information theft, and general unrest among both the Thalmor and the Empire.

Fenrir DeSade-

Age: 21 Note- Some information says 19, but we won't know until he is apprehended.

Gender: Male

Race: Nord

Physical Description: Identical twin of Faust DeSade, no identifying marks or tattoos.

Known Aliases: The Wolf of Windhelm… Whatever that may mean.

Known Affiliations: Thieves Guild, East Empire Company

Combat Strength: Brute force, axes, some conjuration magick.

Wanted for the same injustices as his twin, seeing as he committed said crimes with him.

Aurora Luune-

Age: 26

Gender: Female

Race: Nord

Physical Description: Of smaller frame and build for a Nord woman, white hair, long, with blue eyes. Usually seen wearing a combination of white and black clothing, has, of all things, a ring pierced through her left eyebrow. Despite her feminine appearance and stature, one should use caution when approaching. She is known for a bad temper and odd choices in weaponry

Known Aliases: None

Known Affiliations: Member of The Companions of Whiterun, close with all high ranking members, married to Vilkas.

Combat strength: Brute force, uses a modified farming scythe along with ice magick.

Wanted for… Nothing, yet. Observe and collect more intel and apprehend if needed.

Vega Roanoke-

Age: 29

Gender: Male

Race: Nord

Physical Description: Similar build and height to Nero DeSade. Dark brown hair, long, with bright green eyes. Deep scar over left eye running vertically. Usually seen wearing black priest robes. Works as Keeper of the Hall of the Dead in both Riften.

Known Aliases: The Black Death

Known Affiliations: None

Combat Strength: Magick and stealth. Weapon preference unknown.

Wanted for suspicion of Necromancy and grave robbing. Apprehend on sight.

Rurik and Maksim DeSade-

Very little is known apart from their names. Younger, also twin, brothers of Nero. The two are rumored to operate out of The Reach, disrupting all activity of both the Empire and the Stormcloaks. The only real control either faction has in the jagged area is Igmund, Imperial backed Jarl of the Reach. With the issues with the Forsworn and general nonsense, it's a surprise we even bother with the region. At any rate, all information regarding two individuals working against the greater good should be recorded and put to use.

Auxiliary Information-

It is believed that there may be other agents of the DeSade Faction hiding across Skyrim, plotting more moves against the Empire, and thus, the Thalmor. The group is also rumored to have at least one stronghold in each Hold, except finding them will be close to impossible without seeing them enter the buildings in question. The DeSade Faction covers their tracks well, seeming to vanish into thin air in plain sight.

Nero himself is thought to live in Solitude, but despite our best efforts, we can't follow him long enough to find where he resides. There are no official documents of his estate, and the only piece of parchment in Solitude with the name DeSade on it dates back to the late second era, under the name of Kamilla DeSade, apparent ancestor of Nero and company.

Investigations into other holds yielded the exact same results, and all homes or land holdings were apparently abandoned, locked up, or nonexistent.

We need to be very careful around these individuals, as we don't know what exactly they have planned, if anything. We also should more thoroughly investigate the combat strategies of them to formulate proper counter measures.

ALSO

This dossier should not, under any circumstances, leave this office. Make separate copies of each of the DeSade members and disperse them among the Justiciars.

-First Emissary Elenwen

"Hmm…" The hooded man mumbled, tucking the document into his belt. "I guess we'll have to be a bit more careful from here on."

Peeking back into the main room, Vega smirked, seeing a window open he did not come through. The bodies were gone, and the stacks of papers on the table were now scattered everywhere.

"Apparently Eidolon isn't the only one with plans in motion… This should be fun." He said aloud, knowing he was not alone.

Pulling an emotionless white mask off his belt, Vega slid it over his face, rolling his neck with a vulgar crunch. Walking back to the commander's chambers, he snapped his fingers, shooting a stream of liquid fire onto anything that would burn. He made his way from room to room, setting it ablaze as he worked his way to the upper floor where he had infiltrated. Slipping out a window, the masked Nord scaled the wall to the roof, chuckling as smoke began to seep from every hole in the tower. Looking over the sleeping city, he felt a presence behind him.

"And who do I owe this intrusion?" Vega asked, turning to face him company. "It's not polite to sneak up on people if you aren't going to kill them."

"I was unaware that was bad manners… I will rectify my poor upbringing." The woman replied, pulling a dagger from her belt. "I apologize for my offensive behavior."

Vega grinned horribly behind his mask as the woman dashed at him, drawing a blade from her other side. Dodging the clumsy swipes, Vega scoffed as he spun on his heel, cracking the woman in the face with a vicious backhand, sending her end over end backwards. A pained whimper escaped the woman as she pushed herself to her knees, trying to catch her breath.

"It's even more rude not to introduce yourself before attacking…" Vega trailed off, popping his knuckles.

"What use would it be? You're going to be dead soon!" The woman hissed, strengthening her resolve.

The woman's unorganized attack continued, utterly thwarted by Vega's superior fighting ability. The Nord's evasiveness was infuriating to his attacker, who couldn't land a blow to save her life. Her wasted movements were wearing her down quickly, her muscles getting more and more fatigued with every swing.

"Stand still so I can skin you!" The woman shrieked.

"The weak are useless and should be culled from the population… Pathetic." Vega replied, flicking his wrist, bringing a vicious looking blade into view.

The woman screamed in anger as she charged at her target, slashing wildly, her unrefined fighting style leaving her highly vulnerable. Vega narrowed his eyes, disarming the woman with little effort. A sinister chuckle crept from behind the mask as he towered over the clumsy assassin. Snatching her by a strap on her garb, Vega used his inhuman strength to launch off the roof, throwing his blade after her. Time seemed to slow as the weapon split the air with alarming speed, slashing right through the woman's midsection. A horrible scream pierced the icy winds as she fell.

Smoke and ash billowed from the open windows of the Thalmor headquarters. Finally taking notice, the guards ran their fastest to investigate. Vega laughed madly, his voice cackling through the night air as the tower burned.


	5. Dusk Walker

Seven days remain until the DeSade ultimatum expires…

Morthal outskirts, mid morning…

Vega stumbled through the filth and decay of the swamps surrounding Morthal. His hair was matted with mud and sweat from his disastrous escape from Solitude. The mission to infiltrate the Thalmor headquarters the week before had gone off without a hitch, until his escape was thwarted by a guard with terrible timing. As he dropped from the roof, he startled an Imperial soldier, who then alerted the already swarming guards. The chase went on for days, winding through Dragon Bridge, down to Rorikstead and through the tundra of Whiterun, ending in the ominous mountains surrounding Labyrinthian. The resident trolls made short work of the remaining pursuers, allowing Vega to slip into the forgotten catacombs.

He sat in the gloom, surrounded by the dead for four days, a terrible blizzard kept him in the forsaken monolith for another three days. Luckily for him, frost troll tasted excellent roasted over the ceremonial pyres of Labyrinthian. With the storm finally breaking, the dark mage could continue his trek to Dawnstar.

"Namira… Curse it all…" He mumbled, finally pulling himself out of the swamp and onto solid land. "Those damn trolls were probably tainted by eating those disgusting Imperials…"

He could feel his blood running through his veins as a fever started to take over his body, slowing his pace even more. His boots felt as if they were filled with iron, and that his muscles had been replaced with solid dwarven metal. His feet began to drag through the mud as more and more control was lost to his violent food poisoning. A chill wracked his body, causing him to hit the ground with a painful thud. He shivered in the muck, cursing all the divines as his vision blurred. Vega growled as he heard footsteps approaching.

"…Master Vega?" A voice called out.

"Mm…Maryk((Mair-ick))?" Vega croaked, trying to push himself out of the mud, but face planting.

The man rushed over, kneeling beside the fallen lycan. Putting the back of his hand to Vega's forehead, he gasped in shock.

"What in Oblivion happened?" Maryk asked, rolling him over. "Who did this?"

"Food poisoning…" Vega replied, holding back the urge to vomit "And overall exhaustion…"

"Well let's get you to the house and get you fixed up."

With seemingly little effort, the smaller man lifted Vega off the ground and threw him over his shoulder, trotting off to the DeSade house deep in the swamp. Upon arrival, Maryk kicked open the door and ran to the master bedroom upstairs. Placing the ailing man on the bed, Maryk crashed down the stairs and into the kitchen, rooting through one of the cabinets.

"Missa…" He muttered, digging through the inventory. "If only you would label bottles with words and not cute little animal drawings…"

Finding a bottle of bright purple liquid, the man popped the cork and smelled the contents, hoping not to poison himself in the process. Not feeling any ill effects, Maryk dashed back up the stairs, forcing the brew down Vega's throat. A sputtering cough sat the man up, feeling as if he just drank fire.

"What did I just put inside of me?!" Vega gurgled, writhing in pain.

"Something to kill your illness!" Maryk replied.

"Or my insides!" Vega sputtered, coughing terribly.

As the curative worked through Vega's system, Maryk went to work scrounging up some food. Of the hideouts in Skyrim, the house in the swamps of Morthal was the least equipped, usually reserved as a last resort should something very wrong happen in the province. The swamp stronghold lacked the amenities of the other homes, the kitchen also functioned as the armory, with the fireplace flanked by two mannequins covered in ebony armor. The greenhouse doubled as a bedroom, and the derelict alchemy lab was also the equally desolate library.

For the time being, Maryk worked alone, his partner in stewardship, the Argonian Walks-In-The-Mists, had been kidnapped and probably killed, seeing as no ransom note was left. Or, he had just wandered off, not returning of his own volition.

The man cringed as he heard Vega's screams of anguish as the last of the maladies was purged from his system, leaving him exhausted in a puddle of his own sweat on the bed. Creeping back up the stairs, Maryk found Vega asleep, not seeming to be in any pain. A relieved sigh escaped the man's lips as he walked back downstairs, only to cringe once more to the terrible sound of the horse outside screaming its lungs out.

Dashing outside, the Imperial found two bandits trashing the grounds.

"Why are you doing this?!" Maryk shouted, adopting a fighting stance.

"Because we can!" The Orc bandits replied, laughing cruelly as they killed the horse.

Maryk narrowed his eyes, glancing over the two marauders as they continued to wreck the place. He muttered to himself as he clapped his hands together, placing an icy rune spell on the ground below his feet, protecting the house and the lycan within. Maryk paced four more around the front of the house as he stepped forward, clenching his hands into fists.

"You're going to have to kill me before you trash the rest of my house. It's only polite." The man said, his voice oddly calm.

"As you wish, human!" The female Orc replied, swinging her axe in circles.

"And to think my day couldn't get any worse, now I have to touch you…" Maryk hissed, sprinting into melee range.

Maryk's moves were sublime, fluidly dodging both the axe of the woman and the gigantic blade of the Orc male, angering both the intruders to no end. Their attacks were lowing in precision, giving the man more and more opportunities to retaliate. Summoning a crackling lightning spell to his hand, Maryk cracked the woman square between the breasts, delivering a full body shock, momentarily stunning the female. Her scream of pain only enraged her companion. In his fury, he brought his axe down with a horrible force, missing Maryk and taking off the female Orc's right arm.

"The least graceful of the Mer… Just as I've heard." Maryk chuckled, rolling out of the way of another swipe. "I suppose, having one eye doesn't help much."

The Orc's rage peaked, letting out a feral scream as he charged as Maryk, unaware of the trap he was running into. The Imperial sidestepped, kicking the Orc in the back of the knee, sending him into one of the frost runes. The icy explosion sent him into each of the other traps, encasing him in more and more ice as with each detonation. He fell to the ground with a clunk, being nothing more than a man shaped ice sculpture.

Maryk chuckled quietly as the Orc slowly suffocated in his icy prison. Calmly walking to the female bleeding to death on the front lawn, he knelt beside her, careful to stay out of arm's reach.

"You picked a bad time to get lost…" He chuckled, pulling the axe from the disembodied arm. "But I suppose I do agree with Nero in some respects… The ugly are of no use."

Standing up, he glared down on the Orc woman, feeling a pull of pity as he brought the axe over his head.

Riften… The Ratway…

"Gross!" Aurora groaned, holding her nose."This place is disgusting!"

"What better way to hide a bunch of rats…" Gerda commented, pulling her scarf over her mouth and nose. "It smells like a few corpses down here."

"Probably." Fenrir and Faust chuckled, moving with ease through the gloom. "We're almost there, don't worry."

"I don't see why we had to come with on this little expedition…" Aurora muttered, narrowing her eyes in the low light. "You two are in the guild, what good are we going to be?"

"We just do as Brother asks of us." Faust replied, running a hand through his hair. "And any way we can help, we do."

"Seriously?" The white haired woman replied, scoffing. "Must be nice having lapdogs."

"Even though you are our cousin, I won't hesitate to smack some sense into you." Fenrir replied, flashing a fanged smile. "Once this drama is over, you can go back to your man in Whiterun."

Shaking her head, Aurora continued to follow the twins with Gerda in tow as the continued through the sewers, eventually coming to The Ragged Flagon. As the four walked around the edge of the cistern, a large man met them at the edge of the bar area. He looked down and scowled, allowing Faust and Fenrir to pass, but stopped the women from proceeding.

"They're with us." Faust said, pointing at the girls.

"Does it look like I care?" The man replied, standing firm. "I ain't never seen 'em before, so they can't go any further."

"Dirge…" Fenrir growled, pulling off his hood. "We both know I can beat your ass into next week. Let them through."

"No can do pup." Dirge spat, sneering at the teenager. "Mercer's orders. He pays me, you don't."

"And before we showed up, you weren't getting paid at all." Faust replied, rolling his eyes. "Go sit down before Fenrir makes you."

"Nope."

Without another word, Dirge swung at Fenrir, putting everyone on the offensive. The massive Nord's fist connected squarely with Fenrir's jaw, sending him spinning to the floor. Using the momentum, the young lycan dug his fingertips into the crumbling mortar between the bricks before launching himself back at Dirge, driving his shoulder into the human's midsection. The force took both of them over the railing and into the cesspit of the cistern.

"Go! Now!" Gerda commanded, ushering the others into the tavern.

Taking a seat at one of the tabled, the three felt a bevy of eyes fall upon them as Dirge and Fenrir thrashed about in the water nearby. Before they could get too comfortable, the three were approached by two people, clad in black leather armor. A few awkward moments of silence passed as everyone eyed up one another.

"Well Faust, who have you brought with you today?" The man of the pair asked, pulling back his hood.

"These are my associates, Gerda Gottlieb and Aurora Luune. We have some business to discuss." Faust replied, introducing the women.

"And what business would that be?" The man asked, crossing his arms.

"Well Brynjolf, have a seat and we'll talk." Faust grinned, narrowing his eyes at the woman next to him. "Still your cold self, Vex?"

"Hmph." The woman replied, looking away.

"Let's get some privacy…" Brynjolf chuckled, stroking his beard. "And maybe those two won't murder each other while we talk."

The three followed the senior members of the Thieves' Guild into the back, taking seats around a small table. The inner sanctum of the Ratway was lively with activity. The guild was doing slightly better since the twins had been drafted, more gold was flowing through the hands of the members, more members had joined, and a few of the amenities they previously enjoyed had returned.

"So, what's this business?" Brynjolf asked, leaning back in his chair. "With you two, I'm sure it'll be prosperous."

Without a word, Gerda produced a note and slid it across the table to Vex. The woman narrowed her eyes as she opened it. A few moments of silence passed as she read, the look on her face turning from one of disbelief to an odd smile as her eyes lit up with a strange excitement.

"This seems… Difficult." Vex said, handing the note to Brynjolf. "Not impossible, but needlessly difficult."

"The harder the fight, the greater the glory." Aurora interjected, leaning over the table.

"But what is the point of this whole battle?" Brynjolf asked, drumming his fingers on the tabletop. "It really just looks like you're falling in line with the Stormcloaks."

"At first glance, yes." Faust replied, stretching his arms wide. "But Skyrim wouldn't be under one banner, as it were. The holds would govern themselves, without a puppet king in the pocket of the Empire and the Thalmor."

"But wouldn't that lead to an even bigger civil conflict?" Vex questioned, cocking an eyebrow. "And what is to stop the Stormcloaks from trying to take over after all is said and done?"

"The ultimatum calls for the disbanding of the Stormcloaks, and for the Empire to withdraw from Skyrim." Gerda commented, adjusting her clothing. "There will be other… Measures, as it were, in place to stop that sort of thing from happening."

"Very interesting…" Brynjolf chuckled. "And what of us? Thrown to the winds of chaos during the approaching hostilities?"

"This arrangement will actually work much better for you all." Faust said, locking eyes with the red-headed Nord. "We have people in place that would extend your… Influence."

"I think we have enough of those, Lad." Brynjolf replied, narrowing his eyes slightly.

"The four fences and one informant for the nine holds is not enough… Not like Winterhold has anything of value." Vex agreed, nodding her head.

Rocking in his chair, Brynjolf stroked his beard, thinking on the business at hand. The price was right, but it was the work that bothered him. The DeSade's proposal for the Guild would have every available member looting large amounts of armaments from both Imperial and Stormcloak strongholds, lessening their battle strength without any actual combat.

"We'll do it." Brynjolf said flatly, kicking his feet up on the table. "When do we start?"

"And what are we going to do with all those weapons and armor?" Vex asked, scratching her chin.

"Sell them to bandits, toss them in a lake, lose them, we don't really care." Faust answered with indifference. "Just as long as the main forces don't have them."

"Tomorrow night, you'll start thieving your way from Riften to Solitude." Aurora said, "Use any means to your disposal. For the amount Nero is paying you, we expect perfection."

"And if we muck it up?" Vex asked, cracking a sly grin.

"You better hope the Nocturnal that you do not." Faust replied, his tone changing the mood instantly.

"Rune!" Brynjolf called out, summoning an underling. "Show our guests out the back way please."

"Yes sir!" The man replied, "Please, follow me."

Returning to the surface, the group made their way back to Honeyside, finding Fenrir asleep at the kitchen table, reeking of the sewers below. The individuals settled in for the night as Gerda made a midnight meal for the motley crew. It was nearly dawn when Nero and Missa returned, slipping in unnoticed by the rest of the DeSade faction.

"Won't what we did just give the vampires the upper hand?" Missa asked, making herself some tea.

"We'll deal with them in the chaos to follow…" Nero trailed off, nodding off in his chair. "Speaking of chaos, I haven't seen Dane or Seth since we arrived."

"They're on an errand for me. If they didn't get killed, they should be back today." Missa replied, noticing that Nero was nearly asleep.

A smirk crossed the vampire's lips as she grabbed a blanket from the bed and draped it over the sleeping lycan. Much was happening around her, but she didn't much care to get involved anymore than she already was. She enjoyed keeping tabs on the elite of the border town, keeping herself busy with her nocturnal alchemy and her few other hobbies. All the talk of war and revolt didn't interest her, but she did what she must to assist Nero.

The moon hung eerily over the fog-choked swamps of Morthal, casting an ill light down upon Windstead Manor. Vega had slept off the remnants of his food poisoning and was stirring as Maryk made some food. The lycan walked heavily down the stairs, not fully conscious as he followed the smell of food.

"Oh good, you're awake." Maryk said, pulling some roasted meat from the fire. "Eat this, you won't feel so dead."

With a grumble, Vega snatched the food from the Imperial and tore off a chunk with his teeth, rolling his eyes as he chewed.

"So now, let's get to what you're doing so far out here." Maryk chuckled, sitting down at the table. "As I recall, you were in Solitude with Nero and the boys?"

"Correct." Vega replied, rolling his neck. "But the Thalmor are onto some of us, myself included."

"So you ran here?"

"I torched their hideout in Solitude, and my escape got… Messy. I ran half way to Whiterun before losing those damn Imperials in that cursed area of Labyrinthian."

"I see I see, that would explain the poisoning."

"No, me eating troll for three days explains the poisoning… Ugh."

The two chatted long into the night. Being isolated, Maryk had only a skeletal understanding of Nero's current schemes of glory. The Imperial was both shocked and impressed. Their conversation was shaken to a halt as one of Maryk's rune spells split the air with a terrible explosion. Vega sighed heavily as he and Maryk pushed themselves to their feet, carefully going to investigate.

Poking his head out the door, Vega spied three fearsome looking Orc warriors, apparently searching for something. The one that had set off the rune was blown into the murky waters nearby. Narrowing his eyes, he slipped out the door, rolling silently to the small horse barn. Crouching behind a hay bale, the lycan had to suppress a shout of surprise as he put a hand on the corpse of a very dead Orc.

Silently climbing into the rafters of the stable, Vega rolled up his sleeves as an unnatural light began to emanate from his hands. His eyes locked on the dead Orc as he sent a pitch black ball of energy into the dead flesh. A horrible groaning seeped from the zombie's lips as it sat up. With little instruction, the walking corpse attacked the living Orcs with horrifying ferocity. The inherent berserker strength coupled with even less fear of death made for a fierce opponent, undead or otherwise. As the clashing of weapons rung out through the swamp, Maryk readied the most powerful spell in his magickal vocabulary. A noticeable chill gripped the air as he stepped outside, his hands a glow with cryomantic energy. The coldest of winds erupted from the human's icy hands as he launched the spell forward, instantly freezing everything in its path solid. The hostile Orcs couldn't even scream before their lungs were encased in a terrible frost. Death came slowly to the frozen marauders as they were slowly suffocated by the ice.

Vega dropped from the rafters of the stable, surveying the now permafrosted surroundings. A sinister laugh crept from his throat as the last signs of life left the intruders. The ambient temperature returned to its gloomy medium as Maryk sighed heavily.

"Everything alright?" Vega asked, approaching the man.

"Yeah…" Maryk replied, breathing heavily. "Might have overdone it with that last one…"

"Impressive display…" The lycan trailed off, crossing his arms. "Very odd that Nero would have you way out here twiddling your thumbs, as it were."

"Nero knows nothing of my skills. He is under the assumption I'm nothing but a mediocre alchemist and excellent cook." Maryk smirked, shaking the ice from his hands. "But enough of that, how are you feeling after that?"

"None the worse for wear, apart from ravenously hungry." Vega replied, making for the house.

Six days remained until the Nero's plan was set in action. As ordered, the Thieves Guild was making preparations to rob both the Stormcloaks and the Empire blind, The Companions had decided to be conveniently absent from the coming hostilities, and the influential families had either been bought off, or dealt with, and the Dark Brotherhood was falling in line nicely for a bunch of cutthroats.

Nero and company had begun their trek to Windhelm on foot. Apparently the less than pleasant carriage driver who had brought them to Riften wasn't all talk. Being denied passage, the group had few other options than to walk. Due to Missa's vampirism, and her general distaste for mortals, the little vampire had decided to stay behind and work on her alchemic experiments.

The day was full of excitement, between fending off the run of the mill bandits, a rogue Khajiit thief, and a few wandering trolls, the band of lycans had the added joy of avoiding a full scale battle between the Stormcloaks and the Empire. Finally getting back on the road, the group continued north until just about dusk when they decided to set up camp for the night. Within minutes, the twins had the tents set up, Gerda had the fire going and food cooking while Nero and Aurora went over the plans for the remaining days.

The conversation was low key, until the collective concentration was broken by the sound of wooden wheels bouncing on the cobblestones. Nero narrowed his eyes as the jet black carriage stopped on the road before him. An awkward silence fell over the camp as the carriage door swung open, revealing nothing but an eerie blackness within.

"Why do I feel this is going to be bad…" Faust whispered, idly placing a hand on his dagger.

"It would fit the theme of the last few days." Fenrir replied, putting himself on the defensive.

"Nero!" A light voice said, drifting from the shadows of the carriage. "I've been all over wasteland looking for you!"

"…Oh Gods…" Nero muttered, wincing as the voice hit his ears.

"Please don't tell me that is who I think it is…" Aurora sighed, sounding defeated.

A small man with flowing blond hair, dressed in extremely noble looking clothes stepped from the darkness of the carriage, his glacial blue eyes scanning the camp as a smirk crossed his lips. He walked with a lordly gait, striding up to Gerda.

"I arrived in Solitude, only to find you had already departed!" The blond said, crossing his arms in a huff. "And not so much as a note left for me with the help!"

"Sorry dear." Gerda chuckled. "Plans got accelerated."

"A note would have been nice!" The small man replied, swaying from side to side.

"And just who is this?" Faust asked, his confusion rising.

"Oh, right. I suppose introductions are in order." Gerda said, addressing the group. "This is Teiren Gottlieb, my husband."

"Well I'll be damned…" Fenrir replied. "Never would have guessed that one."

"You don't see me as the married type?" Gerda questioned.

"…Didn't figure you liked men…" Faust coughed, getting a laugh out of the group.

"Well, you wouldn't be incorrect in that assumption." Teiren interjected, chuckling slightly. "But enough about all of that, there are matters at hand that need to be addressed."

"Yeah, like who in Oblivion you are…" Fenrir muttered, cocking an eyebrow.

"I suppose some back story wouldn't hurt." Teiren said, sitting down on a rock. "I am usually addressed by my proper title, Arch Bishop of Leyawiin and Grand Master of the Mage's Guild, also of Leyawiin."

Teiren could see the confusion wash over the teenager's faces.

"So… How can you…" Fenrir trailed off, tilting his head.

"Be so far removed from my duties?" Teiren smirked, idly playing with his hair. "It all boils down to having the right people."

The group gathered around the fire for dinner while Teiren went on to explain himself further. His relations to the group were few, with his family being friends of the DeSade family for countless generations. And the Gottlieb line, similar to the DeSades, were in service to Hircine, the Daedric Prince of The Hunt. In the times of the Great War, Teiren and Nero's families fought side by side for the Empire against the Thalmor. Apart from childhood meetings in the capital city, the two didn't play well together. The two times they had met in their adult years, things did not go well.

The first chance meeting was to discuss matters of estate across Tamriel, which somehow lead to a full out brawl, almost destroying the Newlands Lodge with their odd collection of unrefined powers. The battle raged long into the night and by the end, both Nero and Teiren were beyond the point of exhaustion, and both were tossed in jail in their horribly wore down state. After many bribes and favors called in on both sides, the two twenty year olds returned to their respective corners of Tamriel.

Their next encounter was two years later at the funeral of Nero's father, in the mountains of Winterhold. After the proceedings had ended, the procession moved back to what was left of the far flung Nordic capital, but not without incident. Teiren had made an ill advised comment, which the grieving Nero did not take well. In his distress, he lost all control and shifted into his true and horrible form, slaughtering several of the Gottlieb's guards. He was only subdued by Tobias, Teiren's father, who had also gone lycanthropic.

The funeral fiasco caused Nero to withdraw from the world at large, wandering Highrock, Skyrim and Hammerfell, honing his skills and cultivating a strong dislike for the Empire. It wasn't until he returned to his homeland in the north that his disgust transformed into a terrible hate when he was apprehended at the border of Skyrim and Cyrodiil in a horrible instance of wrong place wrong time. Nero was about to be executed for allegedly being a member of the Stormcloak Rebellion, on his 27th birthday of all days. The soul ripping horror that leveled Helgen granted Nero's escape, and more reason than ever to loathe the Empire. Upon recovering in his family's home in the forests of Falkreath, he set to work concocting a plot to rid his nation of all which he hated. The Empire would fall in Skyrim, and the Stormcloaks would sink into the shadows of history, being remembered as nothing more than a juvenile attempt at rebellion.

The night had fully arrived, and all but Nero were impressed with Teiren's countless stories of adventure. The twins were enthralled by the tales of secrecy and intrigue within the capital and Teiren's city of Leyawiin.

"And those are all the tales I have to tell this evening!" Teiren said, finishing off his wine. "I'm sure Nero has some interesting stories from his time wandering the lands?"

"None I want to remember currently…" Nero grumbled, narrowing his eyes in the darkness.

"That's a shame!" Teiren replied, reaching for another bottle.

"Don't get too comfortable here in Skyrim…" Nero said, almost growling. "When all is said and done I want your skinny ass back on its way to Leyawiin."

"I don't like it much here anyways. Too damn cold." The blond replied, popping the cork off his wine bottle. "You can keep your ice-blasted hellscape and its trolls and dragons and Azura know what else."

"It'd much nicer without you in it, you imp!" Nero spat.

"Boys!" Aurora interjected, dragging her nails on a rock, stopping both of them with a blood freezing screech. "Teiren, go back in your carriage."

"But!"

"GO. NOW." Aurora ordered, casting a horrible glare.

Putting his hands up in surrender, Teiren staggered his way back to his elaborate carriage and tumbled in, slamming the door behind him. The camp was silent as Nero marinated in his repulsion, but there was little he could do. Gottlieb's particular talents were needed, because Vega by himself could not do it alone.

"Better yet?" Aurora asked cautiously.

"I'll be better when his name is struck from my memory for the rest of my unnaturally long life." Nero growled, slamming the rest of his mead. "Damn diplomats."

"Well until things are cleared up, he has to stay."Aurora said firmly. "You remember what happened last time you tried to resurrect something…"

"Oh it only killed your butler." Nero scoffed, reaching for another mead bottle. "How was I supposed to know the dead cook was also a part time pyromancer?"

"Because I told you before you did it! It took three months to scrape the burn marks out of the main hall! And my mother was less than pleased!" Aurora shot back, grabbing her own source of booze.

"That woman is never pleased." Nero sneered.

"Especially after your last visit!"

The night went on with little incident, apart from the occasional drunk outbursts of Nero and Aurora. The group retired to their tents for a few hours of sleep as the moons above cast the land in eerie light.

The following morning found the group on their way to Windhelm, taking their time through the sulfur pits of Eastmarch. Nero's boiling hatred of Teiren had him riding on top of the covered carriage while the others continued their conversations and drinking from the night before. The time alone gave Nero time to reflect, taking the hard lessons of his past and putting those things learned to use. His years of wandering Tamriel had given him a wide range of skills, but no mastery over one particular set. His only true proficiency lie in his odd weapon based fighting style. Nero's augmented strength from his lycanthropy granted him to use most heavy weapons one handed, which by itself was enough to scare off any would be opponents.

The carriage rumbled to a halt around midday to break for lunch. With the group getting out to stretch their legs, Nero remained on the roof, keeping watch on the misty surroundings. He had received many reports since the horror of Helgen that bandit activity was at an all time high, with hardly any traders making their way through the steaming moors of Eastmarch.

"Is it really wise to just stop out in the open like this?" Nero muttered, looking down on the party from atop the carriage.

"Oh calm down." Teiren replied as he lit the fire. "It's not like anyone is after you."

"I'm not concerned with the human pursuers!" Nero growled, turning an eye skyward. "I'm mostly concerned with that!"

With no warning, a dragon fell from the sky, screaming terribly as it was pelted with large fireballs. Everyone froze as the beast of legend slashed down in a sulfur pit, raining down scorching hot spring water on the surroundings. As it thrashed around, a thunderous voice cracked the misty sky, sending a chill down everyone's spines. The words that shook the air were almost alien to all the ears they fell upon, adding an air of confusion to the newly arrived panic. Cutting through the clouds, another, more fearsome looking creature approached, jagged jaws cloaked in a terrible fire.

Without any instruction, everyone piled back into the carriage, Teiren cursing at the driver to get them out of the area. Nero knelt on the roof, keeping his eyes locked on the two dragons about to do battle. The unknown language once again slashed through the air, invoking a primal fear in everything that heard it. An odd calm fell over the area as the sky clouded over at an alarming rate, bringing with it the sound of thunder rolling in the distance. Before anyone could react, the sky tore open, letting loose a torrential downpour. The mere sound of the rain hitting the soil was deafening, not to mention the sounds of draconian battle in the distance keeping everyone's ears thoroughly bombarded.

The two horses pulling the carriage galloped on as best they could carrying an extra five bodies behind them, taking no heed to the potholes as heaves in the road. The terrible storm of nature and dragon breath raged behind them, the likes of which most of the group had a hard time comprehending.

"What the fuck is going on?!" Teiren shrieked, clutching his blond hair in his hands.

"You didn't believe me!" Nero laughed, hanging over the side of the carriage. "I told you there were horrible flying death lizards and you called me insane in your letter!"

"Because those damn things aren't supposed to exist!" Teiren yelled, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Well they do! Ready yourselves if one or both of those things decide to come after us." Nero sneered, casting a glare across his company. "Our true power comes from working together, just like my ideal for Skyrim. Now look alive!"

The eight hooves pounded a vicious groove on their escape to the north, the scaled horrors now taking to the sky and continuing their battle in the direction the group of lycans were travelling. Nero crossed his arms over his chest, drumming his fingers on his left upper arm as a scowl crept to his lips as the dragons continued their destructive aerial duel, sending bolts and balls of all elements in all directions. Nero grew anxious, tapping his foot on the roof of the carriage as they grew closer to Windhelm. The situation was odd: If they brought the dragons to Windhelm, the guards and assorted sell-swords could take care of the problem, but not without collateral damage, but if they dealt with it before reaching the city, no needless deaths would be suffered.

"Brother." Faust and Fenrir said, climbing to the roof. "How do we proceed?"

"It would be so much easier if Rurik and Maksim were here… But we'll have to do." Nero replied, rolling his neck. "Have Gerda bring me the Black Case…"

"Are you sure?" Faust replied, cringing at the mention of the object.

"I didn't spend all those years learning the ins and outs of enchanting not to use that in our time of need."

"But…" Fenrir trailed off, turning his eyes to the dragons approaching. "Won't it weaken you?"

"It only eats the souls of those not worthy… Let's hope I am." Nero said, flashing a fanged grin at his brothers.

Fenrir slipped back into the carriage as Faust stood by his older sibling, watching the epic duel between two beasts of legend. The two were silent as the dragons grew closer and closer with their rage, laying waste to everything in their path. There was still much to learn with the return of the dragons, and Nero was determined to find out what it was and stop it, all for the sake of his homeland. Throughout his journeys, no place felt as comfortable as Skyrim to him.

"Get everyone out here." Nero said, cracking his knuckles. "I can't have Windhelm destroyed."

With a chuckle, Faust stomped on the roof of the carriage three times, sighing heavily as the doors on both sides flew open. He called to the poor human driver, telling him that they'd catch up later. He also shouted to Gerda to get the item Nero had requested before leaping off the moving carriage, kicking up a cloud of dust as he and Nero slid to a stop on the ground. The other followed suit, ready to fight the ancient enemies.

"What's the plan?" Aurora asked, spinning her scythe between her hands.

"The darker one seems to use fire… You, Gerda and Teiren go after that one." Nero said, taking the Black Case from Gerda. "Us three will take out the green one."

"Understood." Aurora replied, smirking as the air took on an unnatural chill.

Dropping the box on the ground, Nero narrowed his eyes as the case popped open, revealing the old horror inside. The onyx box held an old and terrible weapon forged by Nephren DeSade: Ylem[[eye-lem]]. The legends in the family state that the blade was used in the liberation of the DeSade line from the vile slavers in the east, ripping the bodies and souls of their enemies asunder, sentencing them to more terrifying fates in the bowels of Oblivion. The blade itself would trap the soul of those it killed, while punishing the one brandishing the blade if the bearer was not of "worthy" blood.

The dragons approached, finding Nero and his band a source of energy to continue their fight. The beasts dive-bombed the group, scattering the lycans in all directions. Nero grabbed the vile blade as the nearly black dragon flew over him, a growl escaping his throat as he threw off his cloak, revealing the artifact of Boethia: The Ebony Mail. Spinning the ancient blade in his hand, he fell into a defensive stance, locking his eyes on the gray dragon as it circled overhead.

"You know…" Fenrir started, summoning a spectral battle axe from the plains of Oblivion. "I thought you were drinking too much when you were screaming about dragons after you almost got executed…"

"Well now you see that I'm not a horrible drunkard…" Nero chuckled, dropping YLEM over his shoulder.

As Faust approached, the gray dragon slammed into the ground, almost instantly expelling a massive ball of lightening from its gnarled maw at Nero and his brothers. Shaking his head, the lycan slashed the sword in front of him, splitting the projectile in half. Muttering a curse, Nero didn't flinch as the two balls of lightening exploded behind him. The trio of brother wasted no time as the dragon landed, rushing in to deliver an assault of blows with armored fists and weapons to the creature's face as Aurora and the others did the same. With a few solid blows delivered, both of the monstrosities took to the air once again, leaving the Earthbound fighters without options.

"Teiren!" Nero shouted, pointing his awful blade at the blond. "Bring them down!"

"…Only because my father approves of you…" The smaller man hissed, clapping his hands together.

The hair on everyone's necks stood on end as Teiren weaved a spell in his hands, summoning a vulgar power from the depths of his bloodline. The air was hot with electricity as Teiren whipped his hands to his sides, sending two massive lightning bolts at the airborne monstrosities. A smirk crossed the lycan's lips as the bolts struck the dragons, shorting them out and bringing them to the ground with a satisfying crash.

"Can we really do this?" Fenrir asked, getting within striking distance of the beasts.

"As long as we know we can, we'll be fine." Nero replied, vaulting off a fallen tree into the air.

A sickening noise split the air as Nero came down with full force upon the Frost dragon, the sound of cracking bones permeating the air as the cursed blade connected with the dragon's skull. The monster let out an unknown phrase, spewing a wall of frost as it spoke."

"It speaks ice?!" Faust coughed, feeling the icy wind biting at his lungs.

"It is of no consequence!" Nero roared, leaping into the air once more.

The two squads continued their assault with a flurry of steel and magick, the sounds of battle screaming through the putrid mists of sulfurous Eastmarch. The battle raged for hours as the lycans hacked away at the dragons, their terrible screams echoing for miles through the fog.

In sync, the scaled demons fell to their last breaths, vomiting terrible magicks as their life forces escaped their bodies. The bile that spewed from their mouths melted the ground and cast a foul stench into the air as their last breaths crawled out.

"By the Nine…" Faust gasped, sitting down on the arid soil. "I didn't think we'd make it through that one…"

"It was all because we worked together…" Nero grinned, shooting a glance at Teiren. "Something some people don't quite understand."

"You shut up over there." Teiren huffed, trying to catch his breath. "We aren't all as skilled with a blade as some people."

"Sounds like a personal problem." Nero grinned, stabbing YLEM into the ground. "No time to rest, I have a meeting with the Jarl."

Composing themselves, the group shook off the jitters of the battle, readying themselves for the journey ahead. Next stop: Windhelm. To persuade Ulfric to lay down his arms in the name of peace.

END: Dusk Walker

Next Chapter: Midnight Council

**[A/N] **For those of you wondering, I role play in Elder Scrolls to a vulgar degree. No fast travel, no reloading if I mess up, and death is permanent. I am proud to say the character of Nero DeSade is going to be 4 years old this year on PS3. 100 Smithing, two-handed,one-handed, enchanting, sneak, and heavy armor. About 500 hours on him alone.

Also, the other characters, Aurora, Gerda, Teiren, Rurik and Maksim, Faust and Fenrir, and Vega, are all characters from a different fiction that has yet to be published, which were all taken from various MMOs /RP sims in Second Life I used to populate.

If you have any questions/comments, feel free to message me here on the site!

"_Ugly and clumsy? Pity." _ Nero- RECLAIM


	6. Midnight Council

Windhelm outskirts, sundown…

The band of not so merry lycans drug their boots through the deepening snow after their violent battle with two draconian terrors. Having devoured the souls, Nero felt rather upbeat opposed to his companions who were looking rather battle worn. Nero's blood still ran hot from the battle as the ancient city of stone loomed in the distance.

"So… What just happened?" Aurora asked, rolling her scythe over her shoulders. "I mean… That Dragonborn nonsense can't be true, can it?"

"Did you not just see him practically eat the souls of those damn lizards?" Teiren huffed, crossing his arms. "Nero, always getting the best of everything…"

"That's a fucking lie and you know it." Nero said flatly, casting a glare over his shoulder. "Says the damn ARCH BISHOP of Leyawiin."

"At least I don't reside in the backwaters of a doomed kingdom." Teiren said under his breath.

"All of Tamriel is doomed. I'm just trying to make it a bit more tolerable." Nero chuckled, pulling his hood over his head. "Unlike a certain blond I know who does nothing with his close ties to the Emperor, aside from squander his influence on wine and _night stalkers…_ Disgusting."

"I… Don't have a response to that." Teiren replied, looking at his feet.

"Good. You walk much faster without your mouth open." Nero sneered, narrowing his eyes as the snowy path turned to stone.

The group crossed the bridge, feeling all the eyes of the guards land on them as they passed. The doors to the city lurched open with a groan, revealing the bleakness that was Windhelm. Nero lead the group through the shambles that remained of the market and into the residential district to the last manor on the left. As they approached, Nero gave the silent order to hold as he spied someone going in the house.

"Who was that?" Fenrir whispered, adjusting his hood. "One of the stewards?"

"Both stewards here are Argonian… That was a Redguard." Nero muttered.

"How can they let Argonians in the city?" Faust asked, peering around Nero. "Aren't they forbidden?"

"Windhelm is under the impression that I own them, so they allow them in the city." Nero answered, his blank expression twisting into a scowl. "Something isn't right. Stay on your toes."

With no instruction, the twins split, going to opposing sides of the building and scaling the walls. Nero motioned to the girls to keep watch outside as he and Teiren approached the door. Putting an ear to the wood, his eyes narrowed as he heard multiple voices from beyond the door, and none of them sounded too happy. Nero's eyes rolled as he stepped back putting a finger to his chin as he thought. A light snow began to fall as the sun was setting, the shadows of the massive walls drowning the district.

Turning to Teiren, Nero gave the sign for silence as he slipped around the corner, following behind Faust. In a moment, he was up the wall and in the window to the master bedroom, putting his back to the wall and closing the window. Creeping to the hallway, he found Faust and Fenrir standing on the molding of the wall over the stairs, listening intently to the conversation below.

"Maybe we have the wrong house?" A woman asked.

"Impossible. My informant is never wrong. He was here recently. How else would there be these signs of life?" Another female voice said.

"There were those two Argonians…" A man said. "But they're tied up upstairs."

Nero's eyes shot open as the words hit his ears, silently rolling to the bedroom on the far side of the hall. Peeking around the corner, he found his Stewards bound and beaten. Sliding across the floor, the lycan drew a dagger from his belt and slashed the restraints, leaving their tied snouts clamped for the moment. As they two lizards came around, Nero put his hands to their lips, shaking his head. As they realized who he was, they eased slightly, quietly getting to their feet.

Pulling the wraps from their jaws, Nero motioned for them to follow.

"But the boss said she wants that guy out of the way, and we can't really do that if we don't know where he is…" The male trailed off. "Honestly, I don't even know what he looks like!"

"DeSade? He's a giant man with short legs, carries a huge weapon, and has a Mohawk!" One of the woman said.

"No, he's a blond man who wears a red coat and has a huge weapon!" The other woman replied, stomping her foot.

Nero pinched the space between his eyes and shook his head as his stewards look at each other confused. Nero crept back to the staircase, staying low enough that no one could see from down below. He locked eyes with the twins and nodded his head with a smirk, giving the sign to attack. The two smiled grimly as they stepped from the ledge, their black cloaks billowing with the movement as the twins rebounded off the stairs, launching themselves at the two women below. A startled scream split the air as Fenrir tackled his target to the floor, pinning her arms to the boards with his knees as Faust drilled his target into the wall, knocking her out as a few dishes fell from their shelves, shattering on the floor. As the remaining man lunged at Fenrir, Nero exploded from the staircase, delivering a vicious dropkick between the human's shoulder blades, sending his target headfirst into a support beam. The house shook as the impact cracked the support, the man falling to the floor in a heap with a thud.

A chuckle escaped Nero's lips as he walked over to Fenrir's prey, grabbing her by the throat and pulling her out from under the twin.

"Good evening." Nero sneered, forcing a gasp out of the Imperial woman as his grip tightened. "It is now time for my favorite game! What in the name of Hircine are you doing in my house!"

Before the woman had time to respond, she was flipped onto the table, sending plates and goblets to the floor. As she tried to sit up, she felt the cold steel of Nero's dagger to her throat. Her eyes widened in shock as she felt the metal press harder against her skin.

"Boys, it's safe to come down now." He shouted up to his stewards. "And now we get to find out what you're doing here."

"What's it to you?!" The woman said shouted, trying not to struggle.

"Maybe the fact that you and your friends have broken a few laws: Trespassing, kidnapping, torture, I'm sure there is some theft in there somewhere." Nero grinned, rolling the blade over the woman's throat. "Now, this is the last time I'll ask, who are you, and why are you in my house?"

The woman smirked and spit in Nero's face, hitting him squarely in the eye. In a flash, the dagger was removed, only to be replaced by a massive armored backhand from the lycan, hitting the woman off the table with a crack. He walked over to the Imperial writhing in pain and firmly put his boot on her chest, casting an eerie glare down upon her.

"Wrong answer." Nero growled, slowly shifting his weight to apply more pressure.

"Ok!" The woman gasped, flailing her limbs wildly from the impending lack of air. "We work for Whiterun! We were sent to stop you from going ahead with your plan!"

"And they sent you three idiots?" Fenrir laughed, binding the two other mercenaries to the damaged support pole.

"Balgruuf sent sell-swords all over Skyrim to look for you. Your plan will never work." The woman coughed, clawing at Nero's leg.

"If the rest are as idiotic as you three, I don't have anything to fear." Nero chuckled, pulling off his hood. "Now, how did you find out about this place? And why did you assault my poor stewards?"

"We were told by the Ulfric's assistant that you lived here, so we took over and have been waiting for you to show up."

"And if I didn't? Where you just going to let those two die up there?" Nero growled, leaning a bit more heavily on the woman.

"Yes…" The Imperial replied, finding herself woefully disadvantaged.

"This." Nero snarled. "This is why we can't have nice things. Ugly and pig headed sell-swords starving people with incorrect information. I should use your corpse as a decoration for my entryway!"

Teiren and the girls rushed in as Nero's verbal assault continued, Gerda attending to the injured Argonians and Aurora prodding the other now captives for information. Their inquiries didn't collect as much as they had hoped, but it was a start. The woman wasn't lying about what the Jarl of Whiterun had done, but Nero had a feeling it was mostly due to the loose ends he had left in the central city. Binding the woman with the others, the group settled in as Nero made preparations to meet with Ulfric. If the rumors were true, he was a stubborn man with no equal. From what Nero saw at Helgen, he was less than impressed with the leader of the Stormcloak rebellion.

The black scaled Argonian, Iron-Jaws, exacted a bit of revenge on his former oppressors by stuffing their mouths with dirty rags to keep them quiet while his blue and white brethren, Poisoned-Streams, tightened their restraints to the point of near vascular suffocation. As they tried to help Gerda make dinner, they were shoo'd to the table.

"How did this happen?" Nero asked, cocking an eyebrow at Iron-Jaws, the bigger of the two.

"They broke in while we were out…" He sighed, slapping the leader of the intruders across the face with his tail. "They hid in our room and ambushed us when we were getting ready for bed."

"The ugly one was hiding in the wardrobe, gave us such a scare we couldn't react in time." Poisoned-Streams replied, shaking his head as he drummed his claws on the table. "That was two days ago…"

"Hmmm…" Nero pondered, stroking his chin. "Interesting… Did they beat any information out of you?"

"No master… We know better." Iron-Jaws hissed.

"For the love of Azura stop calling me Master… You're not my slaves, you're my family's stewards, thus, part of the family." Nero laughed, snagging a bottle of mead off the table. "When all of this blows over, I'll do something nice for you."

"Oh there is no need for-"

"Take him up on it!" Gerda called from the cooking pot. "He doesn't do many nice things for anyone!"

Downing the mead, Nero smirked as he headed upstairs to change, leaving the rest of the group to converse while dinner was being prepared.

Windstead Manor, Morthal outskirts, late evening…

Rurik and Maksim approached the fog covered steading, seeing the remnants of a battle everywhere, most noticeably, the path of solid, unmelting ice with the corpses of two Orcs frozen stiff.

"Uhh…" Rurik mumbled, sliding off his mask. "What do you suppose this is?"

"Not the slightest idea…" Maksim replied, scratching his head. "Let's see if anyone is alive in there."

Heading to the door, Rurik pulled back on his brother's cloak. Pointing down, Maksim's eyes widened as he saw that he almost stepped on a magickal rune, and a nasty looking one at that. Stepping around the trap, they reached the door and knocked, waiting to hear any movement from inside. A few moments passed, and the door creaked open to reveal a very tired looking Maryk.

"What are you two doing here?" The Imperial asked, sounding exhausted.

"We got a little distracted, so we figured we'd swing by…" Rurik said, crossing his arms. "Everything alright? Aside from the ice sculpture…"

"Hmm? Oh, that." Maryk chuckled. "Yeah, we're good. Just had some raiders. Nothing I can't handle."

"I see…" Maksim replied, peering around the human. "Is someone else here?"

"Vega is, but he's asleep currently." Maryk answered, opening the door. "Well don't stand outside all night, come on in."

Entering the shabby manor, the twins looked around, wincing at the shape the place was in. Maryk went on to explain the events of the last few days to the lycans, and his sad situation in the swamps. His partner steward had vanished, leaving all the upkeep of the manor to him, but not much could be done with the small amount of money he had to work with.

"Sounds rough." Maksim commented, leaning back in his chair. "But this always was considered the 'last resort', as it were."

"I'll be fine as soon as we all switch for winter." Maryk said, shaking his head. "Then those poor girls in Solitude will have to deal with this mess."

"Have you brought this up to Nero?" Rurik asked, slightly concerned.

"I haven't seen him in… Almost a year, and the couriers can never seem to find him." Maryk sighed.

"He is a hard person to locate… But it's out of need for the moment. Things are going to get interesting." Rurik said, leaning on the table.

"Vega filled me in. Should be fun if everything works out."

The trio talked a bit more before retiring for the night, the twins setting up sleeping mats in the storage room as Maryk slinked off to the second bedroom upstairs. A peaceful quiet fell over the home and the night passed without incident.

Back in Windhelm…

The gloomy morning found Ulfric Stormcloak, leader of the Stormcloak rebellion Jarl of Windhelm flooded with reports of the ongoing hostilities around Skyrim. Skirmishes roared across the province almost constantly, with the balance of power not swaying to either side. The conflict was weighing heavily on both sides, draining resources and morale across the board.

In the logistical chaos that was The Palace of The Kings, a lone courier slipped in, holding a letter addressed to Ulfric.

"I have a letter for the Jarl." The man said to no one in particular.

"Give it here…" The Jarl answered, his voice cutting through the dull roar of the surroundings.

Glad for a momentary distraction, Ulfric snatched the letter and began to read, his eyes narrowing as the words were read.

"_Ulfric Stormcloak, I, Nero DeSade, require a meeting with you, seeing as you have been so rude as to ignore my last correspondence. I shall arrive at the Nightgate Inn at sundown today, and expect you to appear no later than nine this evening. You may bring your housecarl and one guard. We will speak on the dock overlooking the lake on the premises. See you there. –N"_

In a huff, Ulfric crumpled the letter in his palm, sighing heavily as his eyes locked on Galmar Stone-Fist.

"What is it?" The hulking Nord asked, tilting his head.

"The Dragonborn…" Ulfric grumbled, pushing himself to his feet. "Follow me."

Galmar nodded silently, following his leader to his chambers. Ulfric's steps fell heavily on the stone floor on the way to his room.

"Is this the same person who sent those ridiculous demands?" Stone-Fist asked, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why is this even an issue?"

"Under normal circumstances it wouldn't be… But this Dragonborn business annoys me…" Ulfric replied, pulling at his beard in annoyance. "In this odd era, nothing is really 'normal'."

"Is this person a threat?"

"Possibly… Those old men of the mountain could have a hand in this."

"Such as? I thought the Gray Beards had no interest in the affairs of those down here."

"They don't, but the Dragonborn appearing could have swayed them."

"And what does this person want with you now?"

"A meeting, outside of the city. With his previous threats, I think it would be best to meet him."

"What could he possibly want to meet about?"

"He was calling for peace before… I doubt he will switch his stance."

"But how will giving up our fight bring peace? And I doubt the Empire will just go back to the capital. Their roots run deep here."

"I am well aware, and I intend to get to the bottom of this who ordeal, and then get back to our real problems at hand. Summon Free-Winter, we leave after lunch. Wouldn't want to keep the Dragonborn waiting…"

"Understood. Let it be known I think this is a bad idea."

"I don't think it's a good idea either, but with this out of the way, we can focus our attention more easily. Now go…"

Windhelm outskirts, that afternoon…

The black carriage owned by Teiren rumbled east, toward the sleepy inn known as Nightgate. The grim overcast of the morning had broken to a perfect blue sky along their path as a light but chilled breeze pushed the group along. The girls and Teiren were asleep inside while Nero and the twins followed alongside on foot. Despite the events in motion, everyone was mostly at ease and in a decent mood. The driver attempted to make small talk, but his efforts were struck down by Nero's silence.

"Let's hope this trip brings us closer to our goal." Faust said, hanging off the side of the carriage. "I don't like wasting all this time."

"If the Jarl decides to actually show up… You know Nero won't make it easy for him if he doesn't." Fenrir replied, spinning his dagger between his fingers. "I would rather not have to spill anymore Stormcloak blood, I don't really mind them."

"I'd rather deal with them opposed to the Empire." Faust said, climbing to the roof of the carriage. "But I think we'll have more problems after the initial assault, mainly from those Thalmor things."

The mountain road quickly turned into a forested path as the carriage moved into the shadow of the woods as the daylight started to fade into late afternoon. The freshly fallen snow muffled the sounds of the group as they pressed through the forest toward the inn. Nero had hardly said a word most of the trek, staying in the shadows of his cloak.

The Nightgate Inn sat on a small ridge overlooking a mountain lake. As the group approached, the area was gripped in an unnatural silence, putting everyone awake on edge. Nero's eyes narrowed under his hood as he scanned the surroundings.

"You think he will show up?" Faust asked, looking down on Nero.

"It's not so much him I am worried about..." Nero replied, adjusting his clothing. "If those people we found in Windhelm aren't lying, there are people looking for me…"

"With bad intel." Faust chuckled, hopping down from the roof. "Driver, hide the carriage and get everyone inside. I've got a funny feeling about this…"

"You too?" Fenrir smirked, shoving his hands into his pockets. "I would have preferred a different venue."

"One hundred Septims says he surrounds the place with archers and we all get stuck with countless arrows." Faust said, peering into the darkening woods.

"Two hundred says he tries to kill Nero!" Fenrir replied, cocking an eyebrow. "And that one of the girls snaps."

Nero let out a sinister laugh as he kept listening in on his brother's conversation.

"Don't revel in my death just yet." The lycan said, whipping off his cloak. "Now stop jabbering, we may technically be out of Eastmarch, but Ulfric is still king of the east."

"And you don't get too high on your ego, brother." Faust grinned, making for the building. "Let's unpack."

The group piled into the inn, giving the Innkeeper a shock. Nero paid the fees for the rooms, and vanished into one of them, locking the door behind him. The rest doubled up, with the blond disaster Teiren residing in his carriage. After everyone was settled, they reconvened in the main hall, taking the tables against the wall, much to the dismay of seemingly the only patron. The Nord retreated to the opposite side of the inn, grumbling all the while.

Late afternoon turned into night as the group finished dinner and began to prepare for the looming meeting with Ulfric. The twins swept the area, finding nothing out of the ordinary while Gerda and Teiren set multiple runes of varying effect and power throughout the woods. The woods were eerily still as everyone took up their positions with the appointed hour growing near.

Nero leaned on the supports of the covered pier, fiddling with his jet black leather armor under his shadowy cloak. The lycan's eyes glowed faintly in the darkness as he heard unfamiliar footsteps approaching. Nero turned toward the sounds, a slight smirk crossing his lips in the shadows of his hood. Remaining in his relaxed posture as the three men stepped onto the dock, Nero crossed his arms over his chest, sizing up the men before him.

"Are you Nero DeSade?" Galmar asked, shifting his weight from side to side.

"Possibly. If one of you is Ulfric Stormcloak." Nero replied, his tone of voice sending a chill down everyone's spine. "And it's rather rude to demand names without first introducing yourself…"

"I am Galmar Stone-Fist, and this is Brunwulf Free-Winter." Galmar said, looking over Nero in his cloak. "And this is the Jarl of Windhelm, Ulfric Stormcloak."

"So nice of you to actually make an appearance…" Nero chuckled, pushing himself off the beam. "But enough introductions, let's get down to business shall we?"

"I couldn't agree more." Ulfric replied, narrowing his eyes in the darkness. "Are you not brave enough to show your face?"

"You've already seen my face, during the attack at Helgen, due to be executed right before you were." Nero replied, rolling his neck with a crunch. "My name is more than enough for your men to know about."

"I find that cowardly." Galmar interjected.

"This meeting is not about you, Stone-Fist." Nero said. "It's about the future of this land that you and your men are putting in jeopardy."

"So why not join us and make a difference?" Ulfric questioned, stroking his beard.

"Because your ideals and convictions are severely misplaced. Your war of attrition rages on, claiming more lives every day, all the while dragging the name of Skyrim through the mud."

"And just how are doing that?" Ulfric asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Your little rebellion is once again painting Nords as nothing but barbarians. Border towns in surrounding provinces have essentially turned into ghost towns due to fears of Nordic Invasion. The empire has imposed sanctions on trade, vicious rumors of slavery and trafficking run rampant… Truly distasteful. And it's all because of you and your child-like attempt at rebellion." Nero commented, shaking his head.

"Those are some harsh words, but everything that is happening is needed to cleanse the land and give it back to her rightful people. I am fighting for the people because they cannot fight for themselves." Ulfric muttered, now glaring at his naysayer.

"And what do you intend to do? Be the king of Skyrim? Turn everything into the husk you call Windhelm? I can't allow that to happen." Nero sneered, trying to control his tone. "And how do you intend to dispose of the Thalmor? They aren't as easily swayed as Torygg, but I guess his death did set our meeting in motion."

"You words annoy me Mr. DeSade." Ulfric growled. "And what good will come of throwing down our weapons?"

"A reason for the Empire leave us all alone, and for those repulsive Thalmor to go away as well."

"Your reasons make no sense, that would only leave us utterly defenseless, especially against those damn elves."

"I've given the same demands to the Imperials… But they are being just as obstinate as you are."

"With good reason. These 'demands' are almost offensive. And I feel very offended that you would think I would put my land in danger."

"Hmph… _Your _land. _Your _people. Your actions make _you _look like the northern beast the rest of Tamriel has come to know of us Nords, without any regard for this honor you speak so highly of. You and your war are bleeding Skyrim dry, and I refuse to let my home become the charred shell that Morrowind now is. Or the festering pit that is Cyrodiil. I will not allow it." 

"And just what exactly is your plan if mine is no good?"

"Separate, yet unified. We shall be one nation, but not under the banner of the Empire. The holds will, as they have been, govern themselves, and we will work together to keep the rotting Empire out of our lands."

Ulfric shook his head, unable to believe the words he was hearing. His ideology had never been questioned by anyone other than the Imperials, and it put the man on edge. Nero's words did not give many hints as to his plan, other than it being an almost perfect copy of Ulfric's own machinations. The man tapped his chin, feigning a ponderous look as he already knew his plan.

"I will not agree with your ridiculous demands. Any further actions against the Stormcloaks by you will be considered treasonous and you will be executed." Ulfric said flatly.

"Such a pity you can't see things my way…" Nero sighed, once again leaning on the support beam. "But both you and the Empire will soon enough."

"That sounds like a threat against me." Ulfric chuckled.

"I don't make threats," Nero replied, his voice darkening the mood. "You will know pain."

Putting his fingers to his lips, Nero split the air with an ear piercing whistle, causing the multiple runes scattered in the forest to detonate. Screams of agony erupted from the woods, causing Nero to smile terribly under his hood.

"I see you disregarded my orders…" the lycan trailed off, popping his knuckles. "But I don't entirely blame you."

"How could you have possibly known?!" Galmar stammered, pulling the battleaxe off his back.

"I feel almost offended that you would underestimate me!" Nero laughed, backing up to the end of the dock. "But I know all about how this little rebellion works."

In a blur, Brunwulf and Galmar were taken out, tackled into the frigid waters of the lake by Faust and Fenrir. In a growing rage, Ulfric drew the sword from his hip, pointing it at the lycan.

"You are the one who will know pain!" The Jarl shouted lunging at DeSade.

A grim smile washed over Nero's face as he shifted to the right, the blade slashing through his cloak. He suppressed a chuckle as he spun behind the Jarl, putting him in an offensive sleeper hold as he dropped to his knees, abruptly butting off Ulfric's air supply.

"It is far too bad killing you would end all of my fun…" Nero growled, breathing heavily in Ulfric's ear. "Terror is such a nice expression to witness firsthand."

The suffocating hold lasted another few seconds before Nero dropped his prey on the dock gasping for breath as Ulfric's soldiers in the woods continued to scream in pain. The surroundings flashed with a vile light as Teiren ended the soldier's suffering with a malicious spell, forcing one last groan of agony into the air, making the Jarl of Windhelm cringe terribly.

"If you think I'm still bluffing, you are sadly mistaken." Nero grinned, snatching Ulfric's blade from the dock. "But I doubt with the show you just put on you'll submit."

"That is correct." Ulfric coughed, trying to get to his feet.

Nero shook his head as he dropped the blade over his shoulders, rolling his eyes at the human's words as he began to pace circles around him. At present, there was nothing he could say to change the Jarl's mind, and nothing to ease the suffering the Stormcloaks would suffer at his hands. At the end, Nero would look like a demon in the eyes of the people, but his efforts would be for the greater good.

"Have it your way…" Nero growled, turning his back to Ulfric. "Then you, Tullius, and all of Skyrim will know my hate. The blood of every single Stormcloak soldier will be on your hands."

"Sovngarde calls all of us." Ulfric smirked, pushing himself to his feet.

"Death by my hands will not lead you to your promised eternity, I can assure you." Nero said, running his tongue over his top row of teeth. "And Sovngarde will not bell calling for the Stormcloaks."

Nero seemed to phase through space, appearing behind Ulfric, back to back with the Jarl. The thrashing of Nero's brothers and Ulfric's henchmen in the lake almost masked Nero's sinister laugh that drifted through the air. A crippling fog suddenly rolled over the lake, obscuring all vision of those gathered. All sound stopped, apart from the dark laughter of Nero.

"Five days… Solitude will be the battleground." Nero's voice tolled, seeming to come from all directions. "Fate will choose a victor, and who stands in the ashes of victory will shape history. Pray to your Gods that Talos comes to your aide."

And as quickly as the fog appeared, it vanished, taking Nero and the DeSades with it.

END: Midnight Council

Next Chapter: Claws of the Thalmor


End file.
